A Hole in the World
by theicemenace
Summary: Sequel to "Taking a Chance." Massive spoiler for "Captain America: The Winter Soldier." Rated T to be safe. Crossover with Agents of SHIELD.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **This is the sequel to Taking a Chance. It contains massive spoilers for _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_. If you haven't seen the movie, some of what happens may not make sense.

Many thanks to ladygris for her Beta work. She doesn't mind spoilers. LOL

Namaste,

~Sandy

**Avengers**

**A Hole in the World  
Chapter 1**

**St. Petersburg, Russia**

**SHIELD Safe House**

Sitting at the computer in the safe house, Clint connected to the SHIELD database to work out the logistics of the mission while Yates grabbed some shuteye. In the morning, they would go over the mission parameters along with the plan he devised, committing it all to memory so there wouldn't be any mistakes.

Down the hall, he heard Yates's soft footsteps on the carpet then the bathroom light came on and the door closed. At the same time, an alert came over the network. He had just enough time to read it before the connection was severed at the source.

Going immediately into crisis mode, Clint sent a code through the system that would wipe it clean. When finished, it would do it six more times.

The safe house was like Russian matryoshka dolls. Inside, there was a secret room that housed the computer nd other electronic surveillance equipment. Within that room was another smaller room the size of a closet, and inside that closet was a compartment, knowledge of which was only given to the most senior members of SHIELD. As Yates was still a trainee, she didn't have a need to know just yet, a situation that worked in Clint's favor. From the compartment, Clint removed only those items he needed, cash, fake IDs, weapons, and one other device the size of his pinky. He left the rest.

He heard the toilet flush and the water come on in the bathroom. With only seconds to act, Clint rushed down the hall just as Yates switched out the light and opened the door. Clint made his move, and she slumped to the floor unconscious. Rolling her onto her back, he crouched, grabbed one arm, ducking under as he pulled her into a fireman's carry and stood. Holding her with one hand, he used the other to strip off her pajama pants, relieved that she was wearing panties underneath. He left the top though.

The woman's dark blonde hair fanned out around her head, sticking to her face when he sat her in a chair with arms. He tied her wrists to the arms of the chair, looping the rope around her neck in such a way that it would tighten around her throat, choking her before she could get free. With her ankles also tied, he dragged a straight-backed chair in front of her and straddled it, arms resting on the back, and waited.

A few minutes later, she woke up, groaning and muttering under her breath.

~~O~~

Chris's first sensation was pain where her neck and shoulder met. If she didn't know better, she'd have thought Barton had knocked her out with a Vulcan neck pinch. Or was it a _nerve_ pinch? She could never remember. Her brothers were the big science fiction fans in the family.

Lifting her head, she didn't have far to go to find her SO. He was sitting six feet in front of her with a Glock aimed at a spot between her eyes. She tugged on her wrists just enough to verify that she couldn't get free. Cool air whispered over her skin. Looking down, she discovered that she no longer wore her pajama pants, just the panties and tank top. _******* great,_ she thought. _Now I'm having that dream where I go to work naked and no one notices. Though, to be fair, I'm not usually tied up._ To Barton, she deadpanned, "You know, I usually insist on dinner and a movie before we get to the kinky stuff, but I'll make an exception just this once 'cause you're my SO."

Not even a trace of humor crossed Barton's expression, and his aim never wavered. _Whoa. Tough audience._

"I'm going to ask you some questions. You have three seconds to answer each one. At four seconds, you're dead. If I don't like your answers, you're dead. If I think you're lying, you're dead. If I think you're _thinking_ about lying, you're dead. Any questions before we start?"

"An observation and a question. Hill told me that all of your previous probies asked to be reassigned within a week. Now I see why." She gave him a lopsided grin. "But just so you know, I have a father and five older brothers, all over six feet and all Marines. I don't scare easily. Except for spiders. Can't _stand_ spiders."

"And the question?"

Chris looked down at her bare legs and was very glad she'd waxed them recently. "Where are my pajamas?" Barton tilted his head to the left. On the end of the sofa lay her midnight blue sleep pants. "And you stripped me down to my skivvies to make me feel vulnerable so I'd cooperate. Got it. Before SHIELD, I went undercover for the Tulsa PD as a stripper to break up a drug ring so you wasted your time." She rolled her head around to ease the stiffness from the blow she'd taken and used her shoulders to brush as much hair out of her face as possible. Some of it still clung to her cheeks and forehead, and one stubborn lock refused to be dislodged from where it touched the right side of her nose. "Let's do this so I can get back to my beauty sleep."

"Are you now or have you ever been a member of a group whose goals are designed to undermine the military, economic, psychological, or political strength or morale of any governing authority by working secretly from within?"

Stunned at the question, Chris could only gap at Barton then she remembered his three-second timetable. "No. I've never even _thought_ about committing treason. What's this about?"

Instead of responding to her question, Barton asked another. "Are you now or have you ever been asked to join a group whose goals are designed to undermine the military, economic, psychological, or political strength or morale of any governing authority by working secretly from within?"

Was he going to ask the same thing over and over? "I already told you. No. _Never_."

"What do you know about HYDRA?"

"HYDRA?" _What the __hell__ does a defunct Nazi terrorist organization have to do with being tied to a chair in Russia?_ Barton's finger tightened on the trigger, and she rushed to respond before he shot her. "It was headed by the Red Skull during World War II. Their motto was 'cut off one head, and two shall take its place.' Personally, _I_ thought it was a load of _crap_. Just another of Hitler's attempts at taking over the world that ended in failure on an epic scale when Captain Rogers and the Howling Commandoes shut them down in 1945."

Chris watched Barton's eyes twitch just a fraction of an inch as if he doubted not her veracity, but his own actions. He considered what she said then asked, "If I said to you 'Hail HYDRA', what would be your response?"

She snorted a laugh, shaking her head. "I would smile and go along with you until we returned to the States. Then I'd advise Hill to send you for a seventy-two hour psychiatric evaluation and a thorough medical work-up."

His eyes narrowed. "Why?"

Tiring of the game, Chris tugged on her restraints, coughing when the rope tightened across her larynx. She relaxed and the rope loosened again. "_Estás mal de la cabeza_, as my high school Spanish teacher would say. Because you're either _insane_ or you've had a stroke. In the case of the latter, you should seek immediate medical attention before you hurt someone. Specifically _me._" Sagging in defeat when Barton made no move to release her, Chris shook her head. "Look, all I know about HYDRA is what I learned in history class. That's _it._ If you still think I'm lying then go ahead and shoot me. But before you do, think about this: Can you really live with yourself if you kill me and find out later I was telling the truth?"

It took all of two seconds for Barton to make a decision. He stood up, shoved the Glock into the back of his pants, and came to untie her. He made no apology, and she didn't expect or need one. She just wanted to know why. Rubbing her wrists, she looked down at the top of his head as he untied her ankles. "What's going on? Why the interrogation?"

Barton finished his task and walked to the sofa. Her pajama pants sailed through the air. She put them on and went to stand in the kitchen doorway while he made a pot of coffee. "I had to know for absolute certainty that I could trust you. Thirty minutes ago, I received a message that SHIELD and the US government have been compromised. By HYDRA."

~~O~~

With his recitation of the facts as he knew them, Clint watched Yates's face for any indication that she'd been lying earlier. If she really was HYDRA and he hadn't picked up on it, how could he ever trust himself in the future, let alone anyone else? "…Now that Fury's dead and SHIELD has been compromised, there are protocols."

Yates digested his tale, sipped her coffee, and in between, chewed on her right thumbnail. She finished the coffee, and without a word, got up and headed for the bedroom, stopping at the entrance to the hall when he called to her, "Where're you going?"

She faced him again, the expression on her face unreadable. "To change and pack. We have to go off the grid. We also have to blow this place and soon, before HYDRA sends someone around to do the job with us inside."

When she turned away, in one smooth motion, Clint pulled out one of his boot knives and threw it so hard it stuck into the wall beside Yates's head, vibrating with the force of the strike. She stood still for a few heartbeats then calmly turned to follow its path back to Clint, one eyebrow raised quizzically. "Was that a test?"

Nodding, Clint let a small smile come out. "Yeah. Good news. You passed. Now get to it, Probie. We've got places to go."

**After the fall of SHIELD**

Done with wallowing in the idiocy shown by the senate committee members, Natasha looked each of them in the eye. "You're _not_ gonna put me in a prison. You're not gonna put _any_ of us in a prison. You know why?"

From the look on his face, Scudder didn't think she had a case. "Do enlighten us."

"Because you _need_ us. Yes, the world is a vulnerable place, and yes, we helped make it that way, but we're also the ones best qualified to defend it. So if you want to arrest me, arrest me. You'll know where to find me."

Natasha pushed back from the table and stalked from the hearing room, the paparazzi and reporters peppering her with questions. She remained silent, refusing even to utter the words "no comment." Some tried to follow her and she easily eluded them without even breaking a sweat.

All she wanted now was to find Bruce, to know that he was okay. She needed visual and physical verification. But before she could go out into the Amazon jungle, she had somewhere to go. _This_ meeting was of a personal nature, and only two people in the world knew the location. Three if you counted Nick Fury. If Clint gave the info to his probie, which he probably did because that's what Natasha would've done, that brought the total to four. Clint would've determined that his probie wasn't HYDRA once everything hit the fan. Then, they would've separated and headed for the rendezvous point by different routes.

There was no way for the public to locate her home address here in DC or in New York. Still, she wouldn't be returning to either place for other reasons, only one of which had anything to do with HYDRA. Natasha never had a sentimental nature. She kept nothing in her apartments that had any meaning for her, except for one item. But to bring it along would give her enemies a way in, a way to force her to do their bidding because they would then know about her affection for Bruce, and she would do anything to keep him safe. So, she left Misha behind.

Going to a secret cache, she changed from her power suit into pants, a comfortable top and boots then destroyed the remaining items. From there, she went to an apartment in eastern DC not far from RFK stadium. There, she had everything necessary to change her identity.

The first order of business was to alter her outward appearance. Using an odorless and temporary hair dye, she colored her red hair dark brown. With a towel around her head, she readied the paper trail by going online and hacking into a specialized database. Once she entered the vital statistics for her alias, she would only need a series of photos to amend and type in a few commands.

Like Fury, Clint and a few others, the people she trusted implicitly could be counted on one hand. One such person would create the documents, and Natasha would retrieve them from the dead drop. All the same information would be sent out to the Internet using a sort of reverse virus program.

While she was at it, she did the same for Bruce, giving him a name she grabbed out of thin air. He could speak several languages fluently, English, Portuguese, French and Bengali. Maybe more, but he couldn't actually pass for a native of India, so she went with French. She grabbed photos and sent them along to her contact. He would choose the ones he felt worked best for Bruce's supposed persona and alter them as needed.

Unwinding the towel, Natasha took a pair of scissors and went into the bathroom to comb out the knots. With the scissors, she gave herself bangs and trimmed the sides so they angled down from temple to shoulders. As it dried, the curls came back giving her a very different look.

With artful make-up application and careful clothing choices, few would recognize her. Certainly not the paparazzi. Those who knew her well wouldn't be fooled. Especially the man she loved, who loved her back, Bruce Banner.

Natasha's heart sped up at the thought of seeing him again. When that would be, she didn't know. But just knowing that he was safe and that they'd eventually be together again gave her something to hold onto. Soon, the hole that had opened up in her world when she put him on that Quinjet a couple of weeks ago would be filled once again.

Eventually, Natasha and Bruce would be reunited with Theo as well. When that happened, she hoped that the cat would still remember them. A smirk turned up the corners of her mouth. She'd taken steps to ensure that Theo wouldn't forget their voices at least.

Going to the closet, she chose pants and shirt that sort of matched. Anything to get her to the dead drop where she would pick up her new identity. From there she would purchase just enough clothing and personal items to get her to the rendezvous with Clint. Bruce's new ID and such would be sent to her contact in Sao Paulo. The same contact that had gotten Bruce out of danger for her.

Thoughts of Sao Paulo brought a twinge to her conscience that had nothing to do with Bruce. Loki knew her deepest, darkest secrets, thanks to Clint. As the man she loved, Bruce should know everything too, but there were some things she hadn't told him yet. Sao Paulo was one of them. When they were together again, that would change.

Putting it out of her mind for now, Natasha went into the bedroom and opened the secret compartment in the back of the closet. She shoved the cash into a specially made bag that would give airport security false information about the contents. There was also jewelry that could be sold to provide her with additional funds though it wouldn't be necessary. A long time ago, she'd opened an offshore account just in case. Others had probably done the same though they'd never talked about it.

She tucked a small electronic device into a pocket in the bag, and the last thing she took from the compartment had a very different purpose. It would erase all evidence of her presence.

Setting the timer, Natasha placed it where it would do the most harm to this apartment without causing undue damage to the rest of the building. She set the timer and hustled down the fire escape to the alley. Breaking into a jog, she reached the far end of the next block when she heard the sound of fire engines coming in her direction.

With a smile, Natasha slowed to a walk until she reached a used car lot where she chose a car at random, something non-descript, paid cash for it, and drove until she was too tired and too hungry to go on. She pulled into the parking lot of a no-tell motel, checked in then went next door to the all-night diner. Thirty minutes later, she was under the covers, her left hand wrapped around the butt of a Makarov pistol as she finally let herself go to sleep.

**Pape'ete, Tahiti**

**The Tahitian Resort Hotel**

**Café Très Jolie **

Hitching his right hip onto one of the backless stools at the bar Clint nodded a greeting to the bartender, Akoni, a young man in his late twenties. Moments later, a bottle of icy cold lager thumped on the bar in front of him. He took a long swig and returned the bottle to the exact same spot. The taste was different than his usual brand at home, but he couldn't order that here or it would draw more attention to his presence than he needed or wanted.

A warm breeze blew over him, ruffling his now collar-length hair and pressing his shirt against his body. He ran the back of his hand over the fuzzy beard covering his face, obscuring two of his most prominent features, his dimples. Contacts would've changed the color of his eyes, but he couldn't be bothered. Since the fall of SHIELD, and once he'd gotten out of Russia-barely-he couldn't be bothered with much of anything.

The sun was shining just as it had every day since he'd arrived in Pape'ete, the largest city on the island of Tahiti. And just like every other day, he planted himself at the bar where he'd stay until he felt like going home. Usually sometime around midnight or later.

Clint used to own an apartment in New York City. Past tense. It was safe to say that HYDRA and other government agencies were looking for him so he wouldn't be able to return. At least not right away, if ever.

He loved that apartment. It had three bedrooms, two full baths, and a patio, all on the top floor. Chuckling to himself, Clint mused that now his "home" was a one–room shack just off the beach. He could afford something nicer, but he didn't know how long he would be in hiding though he had ready access to funds.

If Natasha had managed to get out of the country, she would be joining him soon. Not soon enough as far as Clint was concerned. They had to talk, to figure out what went wrong and how they were going to fix it.

The day before he left Russia, Clint had gotten word of Fury's death, but didn't give the news any credence because Fury had "died" before and came back even stronger. He was certain that Fury had somehow faked his death, in spite of the eyewitness report from Captain Rogers.

Most of the Tahitian residents spoke French or Reo Mā'ohi. As his Reo Mā'ohi was more than a little rusty, Clint spoke French or English as his mood changed. The bartender took away the empty bottle and replaced it with a full one just as someone sat down next to him, grunting as if in pain. In French, the newcomer said, "I'll have whatever he's having."

Showing no surprise that Fury should arrive just as Clint was thinking about him, the archer gave his former superior a short glance. His ever-present eye patch had been replaced by a pair of dark sunglasses. And as long as he'd known the man, he'd only seen him not wearing black on a few occasions, and never without the patch. Today, he was dressed much like Clint himself: khaki cargo shorts that reached his knees, flip-flops, and a flowered shirt left open over a white tank shirt, topped off with a floppy golf hat that had seen better days sometime prior to 2010.

Though his movements might appear normal to others, Clint saw the way the other man favored his left side and hunched his shoulders. If even half of what he'd heard about the man's injuries was true, Fury was lucky to be standing much less traveling more than six thousand miles. With only one stop, flight time was over sixteen hours. However, it was highly unlikely that Fury had taken a direct route or flown commercial. Clint had been on the big island for over a week, and it had taken over a week to get here by a very circuitous route. And Fury, with limited mobility, would've taken a while longer.

Clint had just finished his mental calculations for when to expect Natasha when Fury spoke to him in Russian. "Hot today."

Clint shrugged showing no interest in the conversation though that was far from the truth. "Same as yesterday. More tomorrow."

"You're American."

Again, Clint shrugged. "Used to be. Live here now."

"Likewise." Fury took a long swallow of lager and motioned the bartender over, switching to French. "Pescado Ceviche with extra jalapeno." He finished off the lager, waggling the bottle. "Another of these and one for my new friend here."

Clint shot an annoyed look at Fury, extending his hand. "Thanks. Robert Walsh. Bobby."

Gripping Clint's hand, Fury nodded. "Victor Williams."

Bottles appeared in front of them, they each took a sip, and Clint turned sideways in his seat, looking fully at Fury for the first time. "You plannin' on stayin' on Tahiti Nui, Vic? Or is this just a stopover on the way to bigger and better things?"

Fury shrugged while watching the condensation form on the bottle. "Undecided. Yourself?"

"Same." Yawning, Clint stretched and scratched his stomach through the material of his shirt. "Thanks for the beer. Catch ya later."

Fury hadn't said the words, but Clint heard them just the same. This chance meeting was for the public's benefit. Later, they'd get together someplace they could speak without being overheard.

~~O~~

It was early evening when the plane landed on Tahiti Nui and coasted to a stop on the tarmac near the terminal of Fa'a'ā International Airport. The flight attendant opened the door and a set of mobile stairs were moved into place while Natasha and the other passengers gathered their personal belongings.

Wearing big sunglasses and a hat to cover her hair, Natasha waited her turn to deplane. In her cover as a single French woman on vacation, she gave the plane's crew a sunny smile when she was thanked for flying Polynesian Airlines.

Inside the airport, she picked up her bags and exited to the passenger pick-up area. Glancing around, she spotted the island's version of a limo, a remodeled Range Rover, and waved the driver over. He swerved to the curb and jumped out to help with her bags which she'd left on the sidewalk. The driver set her bags in the back, slammed the door and rushed to get behind the wheel. Shifting into gear, he pulled into traffic cutting off two other drivers. Horns were honked, but the driver ignored it. "The Tahitian Resort Hotel," she told him in French. "And I know this island very well, so don't take me on a tour hoping for a bigger payday."

The man's eyes met hers in the rear view mirror. "Of course not, mademoiselle."

A few minutes later, she was at the front desk checking in. The assistant manager fawned over her in an effort to curry favor. And the way he looked her up and down told her he had more than the usual interest in her comfort. He was sizing her up as a sexual conquest. He passed her a keycard with a thinly disguised leer. She could've had fun at his expense, but she wasn't here for that. Heaving a sigh, she started away from the desk then turned back. "If a man by the name of Robert Walsh asks for me, take his local number and the best time to call."

"_Oui, _mademoiselle."

Smirking at the sound of disappointment in his voice, Natasha let the bellman lead the way to the elevators. In her room, she removed her shoes, glasses and hat shaking loose her dark brown hair, fluffing the curls out and smiling wistfully. In bed at night, Bruce would run his fingers through her hair, making her scalp tingle. And though he hadn't said a word, she knew he preferred the curls rather than the straight style, and the red over the blonde.

Natasha knew she was attractive to the opposite sex. That had been proven on many occasions. But her relationship with Bruce had never been about anything as superficial as outward appearances. Bruce thought she was beautiful because he loved her, and that made her _feel_ beautiful. No other man had ever done that for her.

During that first meeting, Natasha had used her smile, the tone of voice, the way she dressed, and a few coy glances to get Bruce's attention so he would listen to her story. None of it had been necessary. Curiosity about the Tesseract and the need to locate it quickly had done what batting her eyelashes hadn't. It had gotten Bruce on a plane for New York.

Her reflection in the bathroom mirror blurred as she recalled her thoughts regarding Bruce upon that first meeting. Before going to Calcutta, she read his file. It described him as an intelligent, giving, kind, compassionate, and considerate man with high moral principles. However, she wouldn't have called him handsome in the classic sense. Not with his shaggy hair, unshaven face that included bits of gray, and dirty, worn clothing. With high temperatures during the day over one hundred degrees Fahrenheit, the unpleasant odor of someone who hadn't bathed in several days had wafted around the shack on the slight breeze that came in through the windows. But Natasha knew better than to judge on appearances because the eyes, and other senses, could and did deceive. Yet in spite of it all, Bruce had given off an air of dignity and gallantry that others would have paid big money to be able to imitate.

Each day they spent together in their childish pursuits had made him more and more attractive to her. The day she thought to herself that he was the handsomest man she'd ever met was the day she realized that she loved him. It had come as quite a surprise, this feeling she'd never had before. How and why they'd fallen in love was unimportant. Just that they would be together soon, and if Natasha had her way, they'd never be apart again, not like these past couple of months.

Thinking of Bruce brought Theo to mind as well. A few days before they'd stopped Insight from killing nearly a million people, Natasha had gone to visit the cat. It pleased her that Theo treated her like family. He'd snuggled on her lap the entire time she was there, seeming to be asking why "Daddy" wasn't coming around. He was also quite upset when she left. She'd wanted to take him with her, but she had to be able to move freely and that meant she couldn't be responsible for a pet. That would come after the HYDRA threat was eliminated.

If Clint wasn't already on the island, he would be soon. She and her partner had protocols in place for every contingency they could think of, except alien invasion. That scenario hadn't occurred to them when they were designing their own version of a disaster preparedness plan. FEMA for spies, Clint had called it. They'd laughed at the time, but neither of them were laughing now. Well, except for the vision of how her partner would've ascertained the loyalty of his probationary agent. Threaten to kill her probably. And what he'd do to her if he found out she _was_ HYDRA: Death.

Aside from the brief moments of dark humor that crept in now and then, very little about HYDRA was funny. Well, she _had_ found it very amusing when she kicked Sitwell off the building. She and Steve wanted the man to know they were serious, and that they would do anything necessary to get the answers they wanted. When Sam dropped Sitwell back on the roof, he was so scared, he couldn't talk fast enough.

She should've found it funny in an ironic sort of way that the traitor had been killed by the Winter Soldier just because he was in the way of the assassin's real targets: her and Steve. But just the fact that the assassin had turned out to be Steve's best friend, Bucky Barnes, who had been reported killed while the Howling Commandoes were on a mission, made all of it unfunny.

Steve had been badly injured in his with Bucky while taking down the last of the Insight carriers. No one knew what had happened to Bucky, though popular opinion stated that he'd most likely perished in the crash that nearly killed Steve. When Steve regained consciousness in the hospital, it was to the news that the US was in a worse state now than after the 9/11 attacks, its government _and_ intelligence network in shambles.

With a long sigh, Natasha changed into her pajamas, set her smartphone to secure mode, and got into bed. Her last thought before sleep claimed her was of Bruce and how she wished he was with her now.

In the morning, she dressed in a bathing suit and cover-up skirt, and went down to the beachside bar for breakfast, ordering a tall glass of iced coffee, an English muffin and a fruit cup. She signed the check and opened the paperback she purchased in the hotel gift shop.

While Natasha was eating, a man bumped into the back of her chair, nearly causing her to spill her coffee. She turned to glare at him only to find that he'd moved on without seeming to have noticed what he'd done. He wore baggy shorts and a faded button-front shirt over a white T-shirt. Worn sandals were on his feet and he hadn't shaved in at least two weeks.

He looked over his shoulder at her, grinned cheekily and saluted her with his beer. Rather than cause a scene, she chose to ignore his antics and went back to her book. When she reached the end of the chapter, she signaled the server for another iced coffee. A few minutes later, a fresh glass was set on the table in front of her. Natasha looked up, expecting to see the young woman who'd taken her order. Instead, she was confronted by the man from before, looking down at her with a smile and the sparkle of humor in his blue-gray eyes, a bottle of beer in his left hand.

"I think we got off on the wrong foot before." His smile widened, and he inclined his head in a small nod of greeting, addressing her in English. "Robert Jason Walsh, at your service. You can call me Bobby."

**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **This is the sequel to Taking a Chance. It contains massive spoilers for _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_. If you haven't seen the movie, some of what happens may not make sense.

Many thanks to ladygris for her Beta work. She doesn't mind spoilers. LOL

Namaste,

~Sandy

**Avengers**

**A Hole in the World  
Chapter 2**

**Somewhere in the Amazon**

In a small village several days ride from anything resembling a modern city, a bearded man knelt next to a pallet on the woven mat floor of a grass shack, working to save the life of a young boy who had been injured on a hunting party. His mother and aunt looked on while the man's assistant, a young girl by the name of Dalva, knelt nearby, ready to hand him whatever he needed.

Without ready access to commercial antibiotics, the wound had abscessed. Even with the application of unprocessed honey and a poultice made from crushed garlic-both used for their antibiotic properties-the boy had gotten progressively worse over the last few days. Hot compresses had been applied, but ultimately hadn't helped either.

After scrubbing up as best he could, the doctor prepared the area for lancing by cleansing the skin. Using a sort of shorthand, he softly whispered orders to his assistant. A small hunting knife that had been sterilized and sharpened-the blade no more than three inches long-was passed to the doctor. He wrapped his right hand around the handle, holding it as he would a scalpel. The boy had been given an herbal anesthetic. He wouldn't feel a thing until he woke up.

"I'm going to make the incision. It should start draining immediately so be ready," he told Dalva. She nodded and prepared pieces of clean cloth to catch the drainage. When he made the small cut, the boy's mother gasped, and she and her sister began praying out loud. The doctor ignored them and focused on the task before him.

When he finished, the doctor again cleansed the area, smeared more of the herbal antibiotic and applied a bandage. By this time, Dalva had left and come back with two basins filled with hot water and clean towels. He scrubbed his hands and forearms just in case any of the matter from inside the wound had gotten on him. This was done to keep from spreading the infection to others. To the women, he said, "He should be fine now, but I'll stay in the village a few days to make sure."

The younger woman's face lit up. "Thank you so much, Dr. Bruce. You have saved my Jairo."

"You're welcome, Elba." She barely heard Bruce's response before the two women darted out of the hut, chattering excitedly as they spread the news.

Leaving Dalva to watch over the boy, Bruce went to the door, stretching muscles and joints stiff from staying in one position too long. It wouldn't last though. One of the benefits he gained from the accident was his body's ability to heal itself quickly. He still aged at the same rate, though it only annoyed him when he factored in the fact that he was fourteen years older than Natasha. Her physical enhancements slowed the aging process meaning that there was a good chance that their time together could be relatively short, or it could be long. There was no way to know for certain.

Bruce never met his grandparents, all of them having died by their early forties through disease, heart, cancer and stroke. His father had lasted longer, into his sixties. Bruce had turned forty-four on his last birthday. Without the accident, Bruce would now be living in what he called his golden years. Along with rapid healing, he no longer had to deal with allergies, bacterial or respiratory infections, food poisoning, and an entire laundry list of minor, and in some case, major diseases that the plagued the world's population and he didn't know if that made him lucky or just pathetic.

He wandered over to the cooking fire where a group of women were stirring the contents of a large pot, and sat down. A silver-haired woman with deep wrinkles ladled some of the fragrant stew into a wooden bowl and gave it to a young girl. The girl handed it to him with a shy smile then turned and ran back to the fire, watching him with curiosity and a little bit of awe.

A few at a time, the rest of the villagers joined them. When dinner was over, Bruce entertained the children-and some of the adults-with a few magic tricks he'd learned from Clint Barton, making them laugh.

When bedtime came around, one of the young mothers asked him to hold her one-month old baby. Ignoring his protests, she placed the sleeping child in his arms and bustled away to put the older children down for the night. She was gone long enough that the baby woke up, but instead of crying at seeing a stranger, he looked up at Bruce with curiosity and complete trust, and it saddened him to know that this small boy could one day grow up to be cynical and distrustful. Of course, that may not happen. He could become a doctor and discover the cure for cancer, mental illness or even for Bruce's unique condition. Bruce snorted to himself at the thought that someone would find the cure long after he'd died.

By the time the mother returned, the baby had gone back to sleep. She tried to take him, but Bruce shook his head fearing the child would wake being passed over. He followed her to the shack she shared with her husband and children, laying him in the handmade cradle next to the pallet where his parents slept. She smiled and Bruce returned it with a softly whispered, "Good night."

All but a few of the younger men had turned in for the night. Instead of joining them, Bruce wandered out into the jungle to relieve himself. When finished, he returned to the village, used some of the clean water to wash his hands, splashing his face to remove some of the grime that had accumulated since that morning. Tomorrow, he'd go down to the river and take a quick dip, maybe wash his clothes too.

Going back to the shack where the sick boy slept, Bruce sent Dalva to rest while he checked on the incision and changed the bandage. With a tired smile, Dalva ducked out the door and was gone from sight though he could still hear her footsteps crunching in the grass. A few minutes later, a man not much younger than Bruce stepped into the shack.

Enzo and his partner, Diogo and the others, had insisted on staying with Bruce while he wondered from one small village to another helping people where he could. It also gave him an idea for what to do with his life sometime in the future. SHIELD paid him a wage when he worked on projects for the organization, all of which he'd put into a high-yield account in the Caymans that already had a substantial balance thanks to an inheritance from his mother that he hadn't known about until his father had died. David Banner had left a life insurance policy. Bruce hadn't wanted the money, but he took it anyway, thinking he might be able to use it to do good works at some point in his life.

He would talk it over with Natasha when they were reunited because everything he did affected her in some way. Or at least he hoped so. They loved each other, but it wasn't the same as being in a committed relationship. At no time since she'd been assigned to oversee his research had either of them mentioned marriage. Eventually, Bruce did want to marry Natasha, however, if it wasn't in her future plans, he could live with their lives being entwined to the point that they lived together, with Theo of course.

Fatigue overcame Bruce and he fought the yawn, but it the yawn won. Taking off his outer shirt, he lay down on the second pallet so he'd be close by if Jairo awoke during the night.

From his bag he took a pair of stuffed teddy bears hugging. He'd laughed when he found it in the bottom of the duffle bag Natasha packed for him. It also made him sad that they had been apart for nearly two months.

He didn't know what was going on in the rest of the world, but Enzo and Diogo had whispered conversations that stopped when he approached, and neither would tell him what was going on. The looks on their faces told him more than they knew. Once, he heard them say the word "hydra," but what a mythological creature killed by Heracles had to do with their situation, Bruce didn't know. The name tickled something in the back of brain, but he was too tired to bring it into focus.

Closing his eyes, Bruce fell asleep within minutes and dreamed that the Avengers were embroiled in a battle with a giant hydra creature that they couldn't kill because every time they cut off one head, two more grew in its place. The battle raged until someone had the idea to use Loki's scepter, stabbing it through the heart with the power of the Tesseract. However, who the wielder of the scepter was, Bruce couldn't tell. That part of the dream was shrouded.

In the darkest time of the night, just before dawn, Jairo awoke and the dream was forgotten. Bruce sat on the pallet with Jairo and held a glass to his lips so he could drink, helping him sit up with an arm around his shoulders.

"_Obrigado_, Dr. Bruce."

"Think you can eat a little, Jairo?"

Jairo nodded. "_Sim_, yes. I eat Cupuaçu, _por favor_." Bruce had been teaching the children a few words of English, and Jairo was quite proud of himself that he could hold a conversation with the American.

Bruce went to the table in the corner and returned with a bowl filled with pieces of white pulp attached to dark brown skin. The boy ate a few pieces then lay down again. Bruce checked the incision one more time, reapplying the poultice and a clean bandage. By then the sun was beginning to peek around the edges of the mountain in the distance.

Word had gotten around to other villages that an American doctor had come to the area and would tend injuries and give inoculations without requesting payment. That meant there would soon be a line to get in to see him. For that, he needed nourishment. He finished off the fruit and carried the bowl out to the community area.

A group of villagers had gathered around the fire. Most of the residents worked in the coffee bean fields during the day so the coffee was fresh. He could already smell it brewing. They didn't use a coffee pot and made it much stronger than what Bruce was used to. He also drank it black since he couldn't get milk and sugar in the Amazon rainforest, and he'd come to prefer it that way ever since his time in Rio.

The older woman from the previous night handed Bruce a wooden cup and he gratefully sipped the brew while waiting for breakfast to be served. In the beginning, he'd offered to help with the cooking and washing up, but they always politely declined. Said it was their job to take care of him in return for the ministering he was doing for the people of the rain forest.

Dalva came to sit next to him. "The people from the other villages will come soon. I will eat and go prepare the clinic."

"Thank you, Dalva. Would you check on Jairo as well? He should be awake soon. If he doesn't have a fever, go ahead and release him."

She smiled and nodded. Dalva was a slight girl in her early twenties whose mother had left her village to make her fortune in the big city, Rio de Janeiro. There, she met and married Dalva's father. When her parents died in a house fire, the girl returned to her mother's home to live with her grandmother. The grandmother had died recently, and Dalva was now alone. When Bruce and his entourage had come to Dalva's village, the girl expressed an interest in helping care for the sick and injured. And so, Bruce had taken her on, teaching her to perform first aid. On one occasion, Bruce himself had been injured and had instructed Dalva in doing a minor surgery. She performed so well that she'd given him an idea. As soon as it was feasible, Bruce would open a sort of medical school where several individuals would be chosen from an area desperately in need of doctors and trained in different specialties. It was something to talk to the World Security Council about partnering with him in funding the effort as well as greasing the wheels in those countries reluctant to accept help from the US.

A bowl was handed to him filled with pieces of fruit. Bruce ate every bite, and though he was still hungry, he headed off to the clinic. It was a grand name for the one- room shack where he performed medical exams and inoculations. The people waiting outside turned to watch him expectantly. They'd stopped being startled by his appearance long ago. Rubbing a hand down the full beard he'd grown since coming to the Amazon, Bruce mentally prepared himself for the day.

"_Bom dia_," he greeted them with a smile of welcome, speaking in Portuguese. "Thank you for waiting. Dalva will show you in one at a time. And don't worry. I'll see everyone no matter how long it takes."

**Pape'ete, Tahiti**

**The Tahitian Resort Hotel**

**Café Très Jolie**

With the attitude of someone whose patience had already worn thin, Natasha gave "Bobby" a smile that did not reach her eyes. "I do not associate with those addicted to alcohol."

"Excuse me?"

"Your appearance tells me that you've spent many days sitting on that same stool drinking one beer after another." A sad smile came to her face. "In my experience, that is done by people who are in pain. What is _your_ hurt, Monsieur Walsh?"

"Well, mademoiselle, there are many types of pain. The only one that aspirin won't help is a hurting heart." Clint lifted the bottle and finished it off. "That's why we have alcohol."

The same eyes that took a slow and very deliberate trip from his head to his feet and back to his face narrowed in irritation. "So it is your heart that is aching and you are looking for someone to help with this." Dropping her eyes back to her book, she switched over to French, "You have the brain of a cheese sandwich if you think that I would be taken in by your overly obvious charm, monsieur."

Playing his part to the hilt, Clint held his hands up as if to push her away. "Whoa. Slow your roll, honey. I was just trying to…"

Hiding her surprise that this lout spoke her supposed language, Natasha could see him smirking under the fuzzy beard and it made her want to slap him, but she refrained. "I know what you were just trying to do, and I assure you that it will not work because my standards are quite high when it comes to the men I spend time with, and I am-what is it the Americans say? Out of your ballpark?"

"Out of your _league._"

"_Oui_. I am _out_ of your league. And even if you were to…" she curled her lip in distaste, "…pay more attention to your personal hygiene and dress appropriately, your league still wouldn't be able to see mine, not even with a telescope. _Comprenez-vous?_"

Shock showed on Natasha's face when Bobby laughed out loud. "Didn't your parents teach you not to judge a book by its cover?" He paused to let her think it over then continued before she could respond. "And _j__e comprends_ just _fine_, mademoiselle." He placed a hand on the table and leaned close enough that only she-and the eavesdropping policeman behind her-could hear. "_Juste pour que __vous__ compreniez_, I wasn't I offering to buy you a drink, asking you go to dinner, and I certainly wasn't asking you to have sex with me. I'm in a relationship with someone who will be meeting me here in a few days. And even if I weren't, I'd rather have my tonsils removed by Sweeney Todd with a rusty pair of nose clippers than spend five minutes alone with a frigid, flat-butted _prig_. I came over to apologize for kicking your chair and that's all."

Bobby's smile had stayed intact all through his tirade, until the last couple of words, which he'd practically spit at her. As her alias, Natasha was highly insulted, but as herself, she was impressed. Smiling sweetly, she blinked in the bright sunshine reflecting off the bottle in his hand. "Then we're in agreement. Good day, Monsieur Walsh."

"_À bientôt_, mademoiselle…" he paused, hinting for her to introduce herself.

"Girard. Sabrina Girard. And it is doubtful that we will see each other again."

Inclining his head, the scowl switched back to the smirk as he returned to the bar, taking a seat next to an older African-American man wearing sunglasses and an old hat, drinking a beer and reading a magazine.

The exchange between Clint and Natasha had several purposes. To convince others that they didn't know each other, to set a time and place for a private meeting with him and Fury, and to let Natasha know that Clint had vetted his trainee and she would be joining them. She had several hours until the meeting, so, just to tweak Clint, she set her book aside and stood to slowly unwind the beach cover- up she wore over her bathing suit.

Made predominantly of black spandex, it was a sexier version of a one- piece while preserving the appeal of a bikini, the top and bottom connected by see-through material that only hinted at the curves beneath, and through which her navel could be seen. The style left most of her lower stomach bare while covering the scar from when she'd been shot by the Winter Soldier. Taking her bag and placing a hat on her head, she turned her back to show that the suit was held together by thin, strategically placed straps.

At the edge of the deck, Natasha took off her sandals, letting them swing from one hand as she walked across the black sand to one of the covered chaise lounges, knowing that every male eye was on her. It also provided proof that her bottom wasn't flat, as Clint had intimated in his rant.

Within seconds of taking a seat and getting comfortable, a young man came over to inquire if she needed anything. Natasha ordered a Tahitian Mahana, made with pineapple, Cointreau liqueur, vanilla-infused vodka, ice and a wedge of pineapple as garnish, sipping it slowly while she pretended to read her book.

~~O~~

Watching Natasha cross the sand, purposely putting on a show for the men, Clint grinned to himself. Her purpose was to demonstrate to "Bobby Walsh" what he would be missing. At one time, he had harbored a secret crush on his partner, but that was before they ended up on the run together and staying alive had a higher priority than appeasing what could only have been a fleeting physical attraction.

He did admit, if only to himself, that he'd been jealous when he saw the bond forming between Natasha and Banner. That was why he'd approached the scientist to ask his intentions. Clint had enjoyed watching them fall in love over a period of two years. They had started out as members of a reluctant team, six people who had been forced by circumstances beyond their control to work together to save the Earth. Clint had seen the video and Banner's description had been apt.

_What are we? A team? No, no, no. We're a chemical mixture that __makes__ chaos. We're…we're a __time-bomb__._

Banner and Natasha segued into combative co-workers who eventually became friends. From there, it hadn't been that far a leap for them to begin loving each other as friends, which lead to forever after love. Clint had seen it coming long before either of his friends had, and that's when his jealousy had swelled to the point that he had to give Banner the Big Brother Speech. He wanted what they had, the kind of love that had been forged in blood, sweat and tears as much as it had through games of Twister, tag, sand castles and Legos.

Chuckling to himself, Clint thought of the time that Natasha and Banner had returned to Stark Tower after spending all day doing who knew what. They'd come in laughing and slurping those slushy drinks you could only find at a convenience store. Clint had nearly choked when Natasha said, "Bru-uce, what color is my tongue?"

The question had been surprising, but not as much as the tone of voice she'd used. As long as Clint had known Natasha, she had always been professional, and supremely confident with a snarky sense of humor. Most of the time she told it the way she saw it. She was not given to flights of fancy. However, that night, she'd sounded like a pre-teen girl, as if she'd somehow had her mental state reversed to the age of thirteen.

Thoughts of his partner and the man she loved brought him around to memories of Adele and the short time they'd had together. Clint hadn't been in love with Adele, though he'd been headed in that direction when she was killed working on the project that Fury had convinced the president and the Council would be a deterrent. Instead, Project Insight had precipitated events it had been designed to prevent. Clint had investigated the accident himself and concluded that it was just that. An accident, a convergence of random events that had been foreseen and given a very low probability of transpiring.

He also didn't miss the significance of Fury assigning him as SO to Yates. Fury hoped that his second attempt at matchmaking would work out just as well as the first. Clint, on the other hand, was dubious. He found Yates smart, funny, eager to learn, and she'd be an excellent agent once her training was complete. He also found her attractive in a sweet and innocent sort of way, though to go by what she did and didn't say, she was far from innocent. The vibe he got from her was that she had experience with men, but not a lot and that it had been by choice rather than disinterest from of his gender.

Of course, it was all conjecture. She hadn't talked about herself much aside from when she'd mentioned her brothers and father. Nothing had been said about her mother. After a week together, that's all he knew about her except that she liked to sing in the shower, off key, singing with enthusiasm rather than because she had talent. The first time it happened Clint had banged on the door to ask if she was okay. The next day, he tried to ignore the noise, but found it next to impossible. To block it out, Clint had put on headphones and cranked it up, listening to a mixture of Black Sabbath, AC/DC, KISS, Led Zeppelin, Van Halen, Aerosmith, and Iron Maiden.

The bar played recorded music all day and all night except Friday and Saturday evenings when a live band came in. Unfortunately, though they gave it a good try, everything they played sounded like Hawaiian music due to the steel drums and ukuleles. And those nights, women of all ages hit on him when all he wanted was to drink his beer and wait for Yates and Natasha to show up so he could get more detailed information about what had happened in DC.

Clint had just ordered another beer when a young woman came into the bar wearing pink shorts, a pink and white flowered tank top over a bright pink bathing suit, white sandals, and carrying a beach bag with surfboards all over it and trimmed in bright pink. She had one hand holding a straw hat with a pink and white band on her head so the breeze wouldn't blow it away. Her eyes were wide and filled with wonder as she looked out onto the great expanse of black sand disappearing to the left and right.

People lay on towels, blankets and loungers, reading, sleeping or just soaking up the sun. The waves were decent enough, beckoning to the diehard surfers. Clint wanted to take a board out, and he would as soon as they decided what to do about the HYDRA situation. That there might not _be_ a solution didn't even occur to him. Clint didn't believe in the no-win scenario. There was an answer, a way out of every situation. They just had to find it.

Akoni set another bottle on the bar and Clint was just about to take a drink when the newcomer came up next to him leaning on the bar just taking everything in. Moving just his eyes, he examined the young woman in greater detail, realizing with a small start that she was familiar.

For convenience of the non- French speaking tourists, the menu was also in English. She read it while whispering under her breath, seeming to be confused by some of the ingredients.

"I have no idea what to get," she said out loud. "What's ca- ca…?"

Clint provided the pronunciation when the bartender ignored her. "_C__achaça._" Resigned to speaking to her, Clint responded to the question. He was her SO after all. Yates' honey blonde hair had been dyed a darker brown that didn't really suit her. Neither did this small-town-girl-on-an-exotic-vacation persona. "Alcohol made from sugarcane juice. It's the main ingredient in the Brazilian national drink. Try it."

She smiled showing a mouthful of big teeth. "With such a glowing recommendation, how could I refuse?"

Clint waved Akoni over, speaking to him in French. "The lady would like a Caipirinha, and put it on my tab."

"That's sweet of you, but all my expenses, even the drinks are paid for already."

Taking out his wallet, Clint tossed a couple of bills on the counter. "I insist."

"Oh. Thanks." Silence lapsed between them as if they had both forgotten etiquette. Finally, Akoni set a tumbler on the bar. She looked at it dubiously then took a cautious sip. "Mmm."

As if they didn't know each other, Clint introduced himself with the name of his alias. "Robert Walsh. Bobby."

"My name's Roxanne. Roxanne Chambers. I'm from Missouri. This is the first time I've ever been out of the US. It's all so exciting."

Roxanne hitched her hip onto the stool next to Clint, scooting around until she was comfortable. "You're American, aren't you?"

Clint nodded and sucked down more beer before speaking. "Yes. Just moved here from Iowa."

"What do you do, Bobby? 'Cause I'd love a job that let me live in a place like this."

"I'm sort of retired."

She gave him a quizzical glance as she used the sugar cane garnish to stir the drink. "You're too young to be retired so I'm guessing you're unemployed. What did you do?"

Grinning internally, Clint looked her in the eye and said, "Quality control. And I say retired, but my company folded recently. With no family to speak of, I just decided to fulfill my life-long dream of living all alone on a tropical island. What do _you_ do?"

"I teach kindergarten though I've been thinking of makin' a change myself. Think Tahiti could use someone with my sk…" Yates' voice trailed off, and her mouth dropped open, but she wasn't looking at Clint. She was staring over his shoulder at the man who had just sat down next to him.

"Club soda, Akoni," he said to the bartender. Clint glanced over at Fury and together they shared a grin at Yates' expense. "Gonna introduce me to your friend, Walsh?"

Turning to face the beach, Clint rested his elbows on the edge of the bar. "Roxanne Chambers, this is Victor Williams. Vic, Roxy."

Yates made a couple of false starts then blurted out, "But you're…you're…"

Lowering his voice, Fury said to the thunderstruck agent, "Reports of my death were an expedient exaggeration, Probie."

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **This is the sequel to Taking a Chance. It contains massive spoilers for _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_. If you haven't seen the movie, some of what happens may not make sense.

Many thanks to ladygris for her Beta work.

Namaste,

~Sandy

**Avengers**

**A Hole in the World**

**Chapter 3**

Taking a deep breath to calm her wildly beating heart, Chris closed her mouth, put on a sunny smile and stuck out her hand. "It's _so_ nice to meet you, Mr. Williams. And I'm having so much fun! I had no idea the people of Tahiti would be this friendly." Fury raised one eyebrow in response. "N-not that you and Mr. Walsh here aren't friendly. It's just that you're American and some of us can be more than a little, uh, what I mean to say is you've probably been all over the world and this is my first time out of the United States. First time anywhere in fact. Until now the farthest I've been from St. Louis is…"

"As long as you're having a good time, Ms. Chambers. And we don't stand on formalities here. Call me Vic." Fury smacked Barton on the shoulder with the back of his hand. "And this guy's Bobby."

She gave the appearance of thinking it over and nodded. "Then you should call me Roxy. Here I thought I wouldn't have _anyone_ to talk to while I was here. Ya see, I don't speak French and lots of the natives don't speak English. Take the other day when I was eating lunch up the road…"

The bartender interrupted Chris' long-winded speech, saying in accented English, "Would mademoiselle care for another?"

Chris looked down at her now empty glass. When had she finished the drink? It took a lot of alcohol to get her drunk, but as Roxy, she would play the part of one who seldom drank. That way she could get Barton alone to give him hell for not telling her that Director Fury was alive.

"I'd like to try something else."

"What is your pleasure?"

Chris forced herself to blush, put a hand over her mouth and giggled at the way Akoni made the word pleasure sound, as if he were coming on to her. Barton interrupted to keep Akoni from overcharging "Roxy" by suggesting the most expensive drink on the menu, "The lady will take a White Noise."

"My apologies, monsieur. I am unfamiliar with that drink."

"Coconut rum, club soda, Xaica Liqueur, Grenadine. Garnish it with a cherry and a hibiscus." He looked Chris up and down. No one wore that much of one color if it wasn't their favorite. "A _pink_ hibiscus."

Akoni inclined his head, the glint of annoyance immediately suppressed. "Of course. _Un moment_ while I go to the store room…and the garden."

~~O~~

"…a-an' then came Sh-sh-Sean. He was a civil (hic) civil engine." Yates slapped a hand over her mouth and giggled. "I meant t' say he was a civil engin_eer_, not an engine. That would be shilly. Silly. Sean did his civil engineerin' for th' city o' St. Louis. Thought he'd be excitin', but he was 'bout as stimulatin' as a…as a…as watchin' paint spill." Yates sighed heavily, sending a wave of alcohol fumes in Clint's direction. She pounded on the table they'd moved to making the empty glasses jiggle. "Bartender! Hey, bartender! Gimme 'nother drink! Somethin' minty."

Mentally rolling his eyes at Yates and her pretend drunk talk, Clint continued to play out the scenario. He made a slashing motion when Akoni came near. The bartender backed up and wandered back to the other end of the bar to check on his customers. "When did you last eat something, Roxy?"

"Don' 'member. Bre'fast, I think." She turned on a goofy grin, using a finger to poke him in the chest. "Why? You invitin' me t' have dinner, Bobby?"

Fury snickered, picked up his club soda and stood, clapping a hand on Clint's shoulder before walking away. "You're on your own, Walsh."

Yates waved at Fury's retreating back with a loopy grin. "He sure is a nice man."

_Yeah, right._ Out loud, Clint said, "You need something in your stomach besides alcohol."

He helped Yates stand, letting her lean on him.

"Okie dokie." They took three steps and Yates stopped with a hand to her head. "O-oh. I don' feel so goo…"

Her eyes rolled back in her head and she passed out. Clint bent at the knees and flipped her over his shoulder just as Natasha stepped in front of him. Her eyes glanced from his to Yates' backside and back. "Taking advantage of a woman who's drunk doesn't seem like your style, Monsieur Walsh."

Scowling, Clint stepped around Natasha, grabbed Yates' bag and headed into the hotel. "I was just taking her to her room."

"Then I will accompany you, just to keep everything, as they say, above board."

"Fine." He slapped the tote bag into Natasha's hands. "Get her room key out. I don't wanna be at this all afternoon."

Natasha opened the bag and rummaged around, pulling out a keycard with a smile. "Eleven-twenty."

Keeping a straight face, Clint made a mental note to tease Natasha about the show she gave him and the other men on the beach. As they crossed the lobby, the trio got a few stares, mostly from the tourists. The locals gave them curious glances then returned to what they were doing as if it happened every day. And maybe it did. If so, then today would hardly be memorable in their minds. Just the way Clint wanted it.

They got in the elevator and Natasha pressed the button for the eleventh floor. The ride up was quiet though they had the car to themselves. Clint had only been in the hotel a few minutes when he had mapped the location of every security camera and was already in the process of creating a program that would erase any recordings made of Natasha, Fury, Yates and himself once they'd checked out. Just before leaving, he'd hack their computer system to drop in a virus that would remove all trace that they'd ever been there.

Once the door to eleven-twenty closed behind them, Natasha took out a device that would produce normal room sounds. All it needed was a sample of their voices to create false conversations for anyone listening in.

"Put her on the bed, please."

"Yes, ma'am," Clint said with a healthy dose of sarcasm, then did as he was told, carefully laying Yates with her head on the pillow. With him leaning over her, she cracked her eyelids and gave him a cheeky grin. He hadn't let go yet when he remarked to Natasha, "She's really out of it. Maybe we should turn the shower on cold and shove her in. That'll wake her up."

"Then we would have a wide awake drunk who is angry."

Natasha signaled to Yates, and the junior agent made a big show of coming to and finding a strange man standing over her. "What're you doin' in my room, Bobby? Not tryin' t' take 'vantage of me, are ya? Oh. H-hi."

The last was said as she spied Natasha hovering in the background. Natasha came forward, smiling benignly. "My name is Sabrina Gerard. I came along to make sure Monsieur Walsh behaves. "

Scoffing as her alias would, Yates sat up and swung her feet over the side. "You unemployed too?"

"_Non_. I hold a position within the family business and have come to Tahiti for a working vacation. The people I am to meet will not arrive for anther few days."

Clint took the jamming device and tapped the screen. He gave both women a nod to let them know that they were free to talk. Yates opened her mouth then closed it again when the bathroom door opened and Fury came out drying his hands on a small towel. "You might want to give housekeeping a call, Agent Yates. You need more towels."

Before Clint could make a snarky comment, Yates punched him in the arm. Not gently either. "Why the _hell_ didn't you tell me the director was still alive, Barton?"

"Because he didn't know. HYDRA won't be looking for someone who's supposed to be dead. And I'm no longer the director."

Narrowing his eyes suspiciously, Clint asked, "Then who is? _Please_ tell me it's not me."

Fury removed the sunglasses startling a small gasp out of Yates. "It's not you," he deadpanned, totally serious. "It's also not Romanoff or Hill."

"Rogers then."

"Not Rogers, Stark or Thor," Fury assured him. It went without saying that Banner wasn't a contender.

Confused, Clint cast about his memory for a name, but nothing came to him. At one time, he'd've thought Jasper Sitwell might take the reins. Natasha had told him that not only was Sitwell dead, but he'd also been HYDRA. _That sonofa*****! If he wasn't dead, I'd kill him._

Eventually, it became obvious that Fury wasn't going to share, so Clint let it go…for now.

Natasha sat on one side of Clint and Yates on the other. The Russian huffed at her former boss. "I had to watch you 'die,' Nick. Just know this: the next time you die, it had better be for real, and not for a very long time."

Taking a seat on the foot of the bed, Clint rubbed the back of his neck. "So what's next? How do we start rebuilding SHIELD?"

Fury strolled over the lone chair in the room and sat down with a groan. Clint could see from the way he held himself that he was still dealing with problems of limited mobility and wished there was something more he could do.

"The process is already in motion." He handed Clint a SHIELD-designed flash drive. Instead of plugging it into a USB port, all one had to do was lay it on the computing device, be it table top, desktop, laptop or tablet, and it would begin downloading the information stored inside. The surface of the drive was also a fingerprint/DNA scanner. It was tamper-proof as it would only work for those for whom it was intended. Fury rubbed his left shoulder, wincing at a twinge of pain. "When the three of you leave the island, do so separately, according to protocol. Just because SHIELD no longer exists doesn't mean you should let your skills deteriorate."

Fury peered over the top of his sunglasses showing his ruined left eye. It was only the second occasion that Clint had ever seen under the patch and like before, he wondered how it had happened. It also kind of creeped him out a little. Okay, a lot.

Clint agreed with Fury about staying sharp. SHIELD would be up and running again one day and they had to be ready. Until now, the archer hadn't given a thought as to what he'd do if he wasn't a government spy and assassin. Become a mercenary, selling his skills to the highest bidder? His lip started to curl with disgust at the thought, as if he'd just stepped in something nasty in his bare feet. Bits and pieces of an idea floated around the inside of his skull, but he couldn't summon the energy to give it his full attention. At the moment, his mind was working out the logistics of restoring the intelligence network.

When he'd been recruited into SHIELD, it had already been in existence close to sixty years. Now they were starting from scratch again. No, not from scratch, but close to it. Clint wasn't certain how many agents were still loyal. If he had to guess, he'd say at least thirty percent of SHIELD staff and agents were HYDRA. That left them with seventy percent, give or take five percent. How many of those died during the insurrection, he couldn't be sure. He'd talked it over with Fury and Natasha this afternoon, using a code they'd devised but hadn't shared with anyone. Not even Hill or Coulson, though the latter would have been welcomed into the circle. They had come to no firm conclusions except that, without SHIELD's database, they couldn't know for absolute certainty how many of their agents had been captured or killed. Some, like themselves, were possibly hiding in plain sight, or just in hiding.

_Crap!_ Clint hadn't thought about Coulson for a while now, but lately his dead friend had been in his mind more and more. Why now, when everything was going to hell? Usually when that happened, it meant his subconscious was whispering in his ear, trying to tell him something. He just had to figure out what it was before he went mad. _Any day now Nat'll have me committed, right?_

They talked around the subject for the next couple of hours, none of them coming to a conclusion that they could all agree upon.

Clint wanted to get Fury alone so he could ask pointed questions their former director might not be comfortable answering in a group. He also wanted to talk to Nat about Banner. Though others would be fooled, just the fact that she hadn't mentioned him even once meant she'd clamped a lid on her emotions that would come off at a time of her choosing.

But Clint knew her better than anyone, even Fury, Hill and Coulson. And way more than Rogers, Stark, Thor or even Banner. Inside Natasha was a seething cauldron just waiting for the right moment to boil over. Under normal circumstances, Clint's MO was to let _her_ come to _him_ when she was ready. Now it was different because she'd never been in love before.

When she first came to SHIELD, they'd been partnered up so that she could learn how things were done on the side of the good guys. A situation that worked out so well that they kept doing it. And with all that time together, Clint had become enamored with Natasha, who was so different from any other woman he'd known. Then Budapest-and much more-happened. And while he still cared for her as more than a friend, that affection had turned into a strong emotional bond in which the sexual component had been put to rest a long time ago, replaced by other priorities and life in general.

In the little cottage that was his room, Clint paced from the bathroom to the window to the door over and over, stopped then went in the other direction, rubbing the back of his neck and thinking. There was so much to occupy his mind, but one thing pushed all other concerns to the side. He stopped pacing, standing in the middle of his room. Then suddenly, it all gelled in his head. Or at least part of it did.

Picking up the phone, he dialed the hotel where his companions were staying. "Mademoiselle Gerard in nine-twenty-seven will be checking out in a few minutes. Please get her bill ready."

Going to his closet, he pulled his duffle bag from the top shelf and stuffed every personal item he had with him into it. From the side pocket, he took out a small device, switched it on and tapped a code into the tiny keypad. Thirty seconds later, he received a response, the flashing of the keypad in a particular sequence. Grinning, he shut it off and shoved it back into the side pocket, zipped the top, slung the bag over his shoulder and jogged down the beach to the hotel.

When he reached Natasha's door, he pounded on it with his fist. She opened it, pinning him with an angry glare. "What?!"

Leaning on the door jamb, he looked her in the eye so she would know that what he was about to say had major significance. "Is it safe to say that you and I have unfinished business of a personal nature between us?"

She gave him a long and very intense stare then dipped her chin once. "Yes."

"Then it's time to close the book on it. Get packed. We're leaving."

"Where are we going?"

Clint shrugged on shoulder then grinned. "Wherever Banner is." For a stunned moment, Natasha just stared at him. "I know you have a way of tracking his location, Nat, so let's _go_."

Natasha had many smiles for many occasions. Most of them were false, manufactured to manipulate those around her, and that included assets and marks as well as friends and enemies. But the one that blossomed like a beautiful flower was the first he'd ever seen that spontaneously revealed what she was thinking and feeling. This one sprang directly from her heart, growing and expanding until it reached her eyes causing them to sparkle. She threw her arms around his neck, kissing him smack on the lips. Then, just as suddenly, she let go and the door slammed in his face.

The thump and slam of drawers being opened and closed were accompanied by swearing in Russian. The door opened again to show his partner had changed her clothes and had a bag similar to his over one shoulder.

On the way out the front door, he leaned close, lowering his voice and speaking in Russian. "Where'd you send Banner?"

"Sao Paulo. Told my contact to get him to a place he wouldn't be found though, at the time, I didn't know what or who I was hiding him from. He's probably in the Amazon jungle doing surgery in a shack and giving vaccinations to the villagers who don't have easy access to modern medical care."

Before going upstairs, Clint had written a quick note for Yates telling her where the next rendezvous point was located, and another for Fury with the same information. Clint took Natasha's hand, leading the way to the parking lot. "I rented a car. We're takin' a short drive."

He put her into a khaki green Range Rover and slammed the door, going around and getting in the driver's seat.

"Where to?"

At the traffic light, he gave her hand a comforting squeeze. "I've arranged for a lift. You and Banner will be together again very soon."

Shaking her head, one side of her mouth turned up in a perplexed smile. "This emotional growth is so unlike you, Clint. What brought on a sudden need for closure?"

Shrugging, he scratched the end of his nose. "Had an epiphany. And _no_, I won't go into details."

Natasha's smile dimmed, but didn't leave. She stayed quiet until pulled to a stop near a field of citrus trees with a large flat area off to one side. Puzzled, Natasha got out of the Rover and Clint joined her. "There's not enough room for a plane to land and take off again, and a chopper with the fuel capacity to make it all the way here and back to Auckland would be way too conspicuous."

"Who said anything about Auckland?"

"New Zealand has the closest airport with flights to Sao Paulo. It's either that or fly to _LA_ then back to Brazil." He didn't respond making her huff at him.

Clint just grinned smugly, not saying a word. Two hours later, pressure from a Quinjet's repulsor engines started pushing at his eardrums making them hurt. He'd had this problem ever since the surgery to restore his hearing over a year ago. Once they were on board, it wouldn't be as bad. He squinted into the sky, but didn't see anything.

Soon, the Quinjet came into view. It swung around and in the pilot's seat they could see Maria Hill. She came in for a gentle landing, the hatch already open. Clint and Natasha climbed aboard; he hit the hatch controls and went forward to take the co-pilot's seat. "Thanks for the lift."

Her patented barely-there smirk turned up one side of her mouth as she cast a quick glance at him. "My position with Stark Industries requires me to travel or you'd have to fly commercial." With her left hand, Hill hit a series of buttons. "We've just disappeared."

Natasha touched Hill on the shoulder. "I really appreciate this, Maria."

"It's been almost two months since you sent Banner away. What if…" In mid-sentence, Hill changed her mind about what she was going to say. She clamped her lips shut and returned to watching the clouds.

"Go ahead and say it."

Hill glanced over her shoulder and back to her instruments. "What if HYDRA-or someone else-has found him?"

The Russian took a seat on the bench behind the pilot's seat, a grin dimpling her cheeks. "They better have good insurance."

That comment startled a snort out of Hill and Clint found himself chuckling too. Natasha got up and started pacing. After a couple of laps, she sat in the middle of the floor, closed her eyes, and stayed like that for the rest of the flight.

"Wheels down in five," Hill announced nearly four hours later as she came in for a landing outside the Sao Paulo city limits adjacent to a rundown farmhouse.

~~O~~

Natasha opened the hatch and descended the ramp with Clint on her six. The hiss of the hydraulics signaled the closing of the hatch and they turned to watch Hill fly away, surprised to see her standing behind them holding a duffle bag. "Maria, where are _you_ going?"

"Always wanted to visit the Amazon rainforest." The dark- haired woman stepped around them and headed for the farmhouse. Turning back when they didn't follow. "C'mon. Dinner'll be ready soon."

From Tahiti, they'd flown east seven time zones. When they left, it had been afternoon. Now it was dark with just a thin strip of light yellow along the distant horizon. As Natasha watched, the last of the yellow faded to black. Clint took hold of her hand and she reluctantly went with him to the house. As they mounted the rickety steps, she could feel rather than hear the hum of power surging beneath her feet. Clint's grip on her hand tightened fractionally. He felt it too.

Hill opened the rusty screen door, ignoring the screech of unoiled hinges. She flicked on a flashlight to guide the way to the center of the house. They faced a wall over which Hill passed her right hand. A beam shot down from the ceiling, swirling and buzzing as it scanned her then the wall slid side to reveal a flight of stairs. The door at the bottom opened and the lean figure of a woman was silhouetted by the light behind her. "Right on time, Maria."

Pointing over her shoulder as she went down the stairs, Hill made introductions. "Julia Ferraz, Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton."

Nodding, Julia stood back so the trio could enter then slammed and locked the heavy metal door. "You made good time. I was just about to eat, if you'd like to join me."

As it was apparently expected, Natasha smiled. "Of course."

Clint rubbed his hands together. "I'm starving. What're we having?"

Julia herded them over to a table made by laying an inch thick piece of wood across two saw horses. There were four places set with disposable plates, napkins, cups and cutlery. Natasha smelled coffee mixed with-was that _oyster_ sauce? Clint followed Julia over to the kitchen area. "I'll give you a hand."

When Julia and Clint turned the corner, Natasha gave Hill a significant look which the former SHIELD commander chose to ignore.

~~O~~

Julia smiled at Clint, a pointed stare that said she would rather he didn't help, but wouldn't say so out loud. "Thank you."

While the dining room and living area he'd glimpsed briefly were furnished haphazardly with mismatched pieces, in here it wasn't quite state-of-the-art, though everything was new. She had several pans simmering on the stove and serving bowls ready to accept the contents. As she transferred the first dish, Clint peered at the contents of the pans over her shoulder. "Yang-Yang Crispy Beef, Bok Choy with Oyster Sauce, Chicken and Mushroom Stir-Fry, Orange Chicken, and steamed brown rice."

The dark-haired woman glanced at him as she took a bottle of soy sauce from the refrigerator. "I happen to _like_ Chinese."

Her voice was unaccented hiding her country of origin though her name was definitely native. "No offense. I just expected Brazilian."

She smiled and Clint got the feeling she was indulging him. "My whole family loves Chinese food. We became American citizens when I was three. My brothers were born in the US. This post was assigned to me because I'm fluent in the official language of Brazil and three of the dialects. I also speak Russian, Italian and French."

He picked up two bowls, tucking one in the bend of his right elbow so he could carry the rice too. Julia carried the remaining bowls, soy sauce and Chinese mustard. "_Que faites-vous dans la vie?_"

"_Je obtainin informations considérées comme secrètes ou confidentielles sans l'autorisation du titulaire du titulaire de l'information._"

In English, Clint said, "You're a spy."

"Don't sound so surprised. I have a doctorate in computer technology, and cryptanalysis. And I've been trained by SHIELD in interrogation, hand-to-hand, weapons, infiltration. Need I go on?"

"Yeah, yeah. I get it. Now can we please eat? Wasn't kidding before. I haven't had anything since breakfast."

Julia answered him by leading the way back to the dining room. They set the bowls in the center of the table. Clint waited for Julia to take her seat before taking the one next to her. Several times, Natasha and Clint tried to engage Julia in a conversation geared toward getting them to Banner's location quickly, but she always steered them back to mundane subjects that had nothing to do with SHIELD. Annoyed and trying not to show it, Clint gave up and let their hostess guide the way.

When they finished eating, Clint cleared the table, sending the women out of the room so he could poke around a little. Unfortunately, the kitchen had no computer access so his snooping did no good. He washed the dishes, cleaned the table off then joined the women in the living area.

~~O~~

The next morning, Natasha drove herself, Clint and Hill to the home of her contacts, Rayssa and Miguel Henriques. Three children were playing in the front yard, a boy around twelve, and two girls, eight and four. The youngest had hair that was a lighter shade of brown than the other two as well as a very different shaped face. She had been adopted by the Henriques within a day of her birth. Natasha knew this for a fact because she'd been the one to bring the child to them, the circumstances of which were just one of the things that she needed to share with Bruce.

Before leaving the safe house, Julia had given all three agents clothing that would help them blend in better.

A short time later, Natasha parked in front of a non-descript home with a fenced front yard. The trio came around the Rover to the gate, seeing the children clearly for the first time. Clint stared, trying not to make it obvious. Leaning close, he whispered to Natasha, "Is that _Alejandra?_"

Nodding, Natasha motioned for them to follow her.

"But she's so _big_," Clint said, unwilling, apparently, to believe his eyes.

Smirking, Hill leaned into the conversation. "Babies have a tendency to do that, Barton. C'mon. Let's get this done and get the hell out of Dodge, er, Sao Paulo."

**TBC**

**A/N: **The French phrases Clint and Julia say to each other:

**Clint:** _Que faites-vous dans la vie?_ = What is your job?

**Julia:** _Je obtainin informations considérées comme secrètes ou confidentielles sans l'autorisation du titulaire du titulaire de l'information_ = I obtain information considered secret or confidential without the permission of the holder of the information.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **Sequel to Taking a Chance. It contains massive spoilers for _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_. If you haven't seen the movie, some of what happens may not make sense.

Many thanks to ladygris for her Beta work. I also received input from Lady Pandora. Thanks, my peeps.

Namaste,

~Sandy

**Avengers**

**A Hole in the World  
Chapter 4**

In keeping with her assumed persona, Chris donned dark glasses and a big hat as cover for her "hangover" and made her way down to the lobby. "Excuse me, could you ring Mr. Walsh's room please."

The clerk didn't even consult the computer. "There is no Monsieur Walsh registered at this hotel, mademoiselle. It is my understanding that your friend has been staying in a cottage somewhere up the beach."

"My mistake." Chris hadn't realized that Barton wasn't actually staying in the hotel. "What about Ms. Girard? She was kind enough to make sure I got to my room after I passed out, and I'd like to thank her."

Smiling indulgently, the clerk shook his head. "Mademoiselle Girard checked out late yesterday afternoon. She left in the company of Monsieur Walsh." He looked left and right, lowering his voice. "They appeared to be quite friendly, and did not say where they were going."

"Oh." Her dejection wasn't contrived. How could her SO and his partner have left without cluing her in?

An envelope was pushed across the desk. "Monsieur Walsh did leave this note for you. Will there be anything else?"

"No, thank you." She waited until she reached the patio bar to open Barton's note. Most of it didn't make sense until her mind picked out a pattern. The note was in code, giving her the time and place where Barton, Romanoff, Director Fury-and presumably other agents-would next meet. The date was at least three weeks in the future so staying on Tahiti was justified for her cover.

Chris appeased her wounded pride by ogling the handsome, non-English speaking cabana boys while keeping in mind the golden rule: Never get personally involved with a mark. And while they weren't marks, per se, she had a feeling her SO would have something scathing to say if she strayed from the accepted path. So, she kept a careful eye, and nothing else, on the young men who catered to the hotel's clients until it was time to leave.

Though she kept a careful watch, she didn't see Fury again for the rest of her stay.

~~O~~

When the little girl saw Natasha, she ran toward her. "Tia Natasha!"

The Russian scooped her close and hugged her tight. "I've missed you so much, Alejandra. Have you been good for Mama and Papa?"

The girl nodded vigorously. "_Da_. Yasmina and Antonio are teaching me to ride a bike."

"That's wonderful, _namorada_." Natasha turned so the girl could see the others. "You remember Tia Maria and Tio Clint." Suddenly shy, Alejandra put a finger in her mouth and shrugged. It had been more than a year since she'd seen either of Natasha's friends, and at that age, they don't always remember. "I must speak to your mama and papa, but I promise to come and stay for a few days the next time I'm here, okay?"

The girl nodded again. Natasha put her down, and she ran back to her brother and sister. Clint came up beside Natasha, more subdued than usual. "You haven't told Banner, have you?"

"I will. Soon. We have to find him first."

Hill gave up a rare smile, an occurrence that usually meant trouble, though not necessarily the bad kind. "We will. Let's get inside. The sooner we get going, the sooner you'll be reunited with your _plyushevyy mishka_."

Not bothering to roll her eyes, Natasha followed Hill up the front steps with Clint behind them. They were met at the door by an exotically beautiful woman. Her smooth, flawless skin made it difficult to guess her exact age. She could've been anywhere from thirty to fifty, with a trim body and flat stomach, dark skin and wavy dark brown hair to the middle of her back. Her eyes were deep wells that more than a few men had gotten lost in, unable to find their way out again. However, for the last ten years, those eyes had been for only one man: her husband.

Behind her, Miguel stood straight and tall, as plain as Rayssa was beautiful. He too was trim in body with short dark hair that had strands of gray running through it, and when he looked at his wife, his flinty grayish-brown eyes softened. He appeared harmless though anyone who didn't know him would be a fool to think so.

Rayssa hugged the three agents. Miguel hugged the women, and shook hands with Clint.

"Please, come in and sit down," Rayssa told them. "I'll bring drinks for all of us."

Miguel did not sit. Natasha saw that he positioned himself between the agents and the kitchen, which also afforded him an excellent view of the front of yard so he could keep watch over the children. Anytime someone walked or drove past the house, Miguel stiffened slightly, watched until they'd cleared out then relaxed again.

The tinkle of ice cubes falling into glasses came moments ahead of Rayssa's return carrying a tray with five glasses and a pitcher of _suco di caju_, a juice made from the cashew fruit. Clint stood to help their hostess with the tray, and as she poured, he handed out the glasses, taking the last one for himself. He'd been a guest in the Henriques home many times, and they knew he would insist on helping so they didn't mind.

"Is anyone hungry? I could make _misto quente_," Rayssa offered.

After taking a sip of the slightly tart drink, Natasha set hers aside. "Thank you, but we've already eaten, and we're anxious to be on our way. Tell me, have you had word of Dr. Banner? Is he well?"

Miguel and Rayssa exchanged a glance, smiling as they did so, with Miguel answering. "I have been in contact with Ezo and Diogo. Dr. Banner is quite well, and frequently speaks of you, Natália."

Natasha didn't mind that her friends used the Brazilian pronunciation of her name. In fact, she rather liked it. But at the end of the day, she still favored the way her name sounded when Bruce whispered in her ear just before they fell asleep, elongating the middle syllable in a sigh. Na-taaash-a. In daily conversation he still called her Tasha or just Tash. She didn't care, as long as she could hear him speaking her name once more. "Good. Tell me, have you heard of the attacks in Washington?"

Miguel sat forward, elbows on his knees, shaking his head sadly. "That HYDRA had lain dormant within SHIELD for all this time is staggering. What will you do now?"

"The only thing we _can_ do, Miguel. Rebuild, and take more care with those we recruit into the ranks."

The group talked for a while then Miguel led the trio of SHIELD agents out to the shed in the back. Hidden in the floor was a secret room filled with weapons and electronics of all types. In short, everything necessary to keep everyone safe. Hill, Clint and Natasha were given leave to take what they needed.

Natasha came upon a set of unusual weapons that she immediately latched onto, slipping them onto her wrists, not surprised when she found them a perfect fit. "Where did you find them, Miguel?"

The tall man smiled showing a mouthful of white teeth. "They were made by a friend. After I heard about the downfall of Project Insight, I knew you would be coming for your man soon, and I thought you would prefer a familiar weapon while you searched."

While not as streamlined as the ones she left in DC, these Widow's Bites were more than adequate to the job. "Thank you, Miguel. They're perfect."

On the other side of the room, having already chosen knives, Clint stood staring at the handguns, assault rifles and GPMGs, his expression downcast at not finding his own weapon-of-choice: a bow. Natasha pointed her chin at Clint and Miguel nodded. Their host went to Clint's side and the two men spoke briefly. Miguel led him over to a locked cabinet. Natasha and Hill shamelessly listened in on the conversation.

"Come, Clint. I have something special just for you, _meu amigo_." Miguel took a key from his pocket and used it to unlock the cabinet. "Rayssa and I knew that you would accompany Natália when she returned for Dr. Banner. My lovely wife suggested, and I agreed, that given the state of the world and the re-emergence of HYDRA, that you would prefer a familiar weapon."

From inside the cabinet, Miguel took a black case that superficially resembled the one Clint carried his bow and arrows in. And when he opened it, nestled in the protective foam cushion was a collapsible recurve bow very much like the one he had to leave in Russia. "Rayssa is one in a million. If she weren't already spoken for, I would marry her on the spot."

Hill paused in the loading of a Taurus DAO firearm to hear what Miguel would say. The women exchanged a glance, both thinking the same thing.

Miguel grinned and slapped Clint on the back, taking it as a compliment just as the archer intended. "Then it is a good thing that I saw her first, eh, my friend?"

~~O~~

Chuckling, Clint took the bow out, opening it with a snap of his wrist to examine the workmanship. "I was there the day you met. Until then, I never believed in love at first sight."

Shoving his hands into his pants pockets, Miguel shrugged his shoulders. "Who knew that a lowly _Primeiro-tenente_ of the _Exército Brasileiro_ could catch the eye of an agent of the _Agência Brasileira de Inteligência_?"

A brief flare of sadness whispered through Clint and he had to force his smile to stay in place. Lowering his voice, Clint said, "Do me and yourself a favor, Miguel. Don't _ever_ take her for granted, and make sure to tell her and the kids you love them every day."

"That's an easy favor to grant as it's something I already do."

Nodding, Clint collapsed the recurve and placed it back in the case, taking the arrow tips out one at a time to examine each, nodding with satisfaction as he replaced them. He'd already chosen a GPMG, a general-purpose machine gun, a couple of 9mm and an assortment of knives to add to his arsenal. Now he was ready for anything.

The trio followed Miguel through yet another door. The moment he stepped over the threshold, Clint felt the change in temperature even before he saw the pallets of food stacked around the room. In the outer room, Clint had seen boxes and boxes of MREs, but in here he found perishables. Enough to feed an army, or a family of five for a couple of months. Clint wasn't sure if he really wanted to know why Natasha's friend had all this stuff. Not, he decided. He had enough to think about as it was. Right now, his top priority was getting his partner reunited with the man she loved. Nothing else mattered. Well, that and his probie. Fury could take care of himself. The note he left for Yates had given her coded instructions on where and when to meet. He figured twenty-one to thirty days would be plenty for them to find Banner even in the Amazon rainforest.

On first meeting Yates, he wanted nothing to do with her. It wasn't _her_ per se, but probies in general. Whenever he was assigned to train one of the junior agents, Clint would do everything in his power to force them request a transfer. Without fail, as Yates had said, they were gone within a week. So why had he kept her around? He'd tried to scare her a few times. The first time by tying her up and stealing her pajama bottoms while he interrogated her. Then came the knife. Still no reaction. Even his mad flying skills didn't do the job. Nothing he'd done seemed to phase her until she saw Fury alive when he was thought to be dead. Of course, he hadn't tried spiders yet, but he'd save that for when there were less pressing issues. He just hoped she'd make it to the rendezvous point on time without any problems. In retrospective, he should've brought Yates with him to Sao Paulo so he could keep an eye on her. But this trip had a dual purpose. Clint and Natasha were supposed to put their relationship "ghosts" to rest. Something they couldn't do with Hill around. _Didn't she have enough to do without tagging along?_

Whatever.

That still didn't answer the original question, why _had_ he let Yates stay? He wasn't attracted to her. Okay, so that was a lie. He _was_ attracted to her. Very much so. But somehow, he felt as if by giving in to that attraction, he was cheating on Adele.

SHIELD policy didn't expressly forbid personal relationships between an SO and his or her trainee. It wasn't encouraged either. The question hadn't arisen with Adele because they'd only worked together when she was assigned as his co-pilot according to the rotation.

And just the fact that SHIELD had imploded with a few strokes of the keyboard meant that all their rules, regulations and policies were null and void. But it wouldn't last forever, and if he broke the rules now… Oh who the hell was he kidding? He'd broken at least three hard and fast rules every day since he joined SHIELD. Why should _now_ be different?

Miguel broke into Clint's thoughts by dropping a box. From the look on his face, he'd done it on purpose. "Let me help. Where does it go?"

"Over there. You can take anything from here you wish, however, you've no way to keep it. And you must carry water at least until you've found Dr. Banner who will be near a body of drinkable water."

"We need to travel fast and light. We'll take two days' worth of MREs and the water. When it runs out, we'll eat and drink what we can find."

Clint helped Miguel move a couple of boxes then they returned to the armory. Hill and Natasha were gone, and Clint could hear their voices coming from the kitchen as if they were in the room with him. Looking up, he saw a video camera and speakers. Presumably, they were used to spy on anyone who entered the home without invitation. Or to spy on someone who may have information they wanted.

Miguel gave Clint a backpack that would hold food, clothing and anything else they needed for this trip, which, unfortunately would be on the backs of mules once they left the city. Not that mule pack was the only way to travel. But if they took a vehicle, they'd also have to take fuel. Mules could eat while they were walking. _Mule pack it is._

Within two hours, Clint, Hill and Natasha were riding away from a small farm north of Sao Paulo. Six hours after that, the sun started going down, mostly hidden by the canopy of green leaves overhead. They made a patrol schedule with Clint taking the first two hours so the women could sleep. Nat would go next with Hill taking the third shift.

Once he knew they were asleep, Clint climbed a tree so he could see their surroundings in a sweeping three-sixty glance. He woke Nat around midnight then used her bedroll for himself.

Hill woke him around 0430 local time to take his second shift. However, when his two hours were up, he continued to let the women sleep so they'd be well rested. Neither of them would be happy, but he didn't care. Someone had to be in charge, and he appointed himself.

The sun finally filtered through the trees, lighting the area with an ethereal glow. Silently, they munched on MREs, Clint mourning the lack of coffee. They could've started a fire to make some, but none of them seemed motivated. And it would've alerted other that they were there.

Clint finished his breakfast and sat there rolling the wrapper around in his hands making it crinkle. "How're we gonna find Banner, Nat?"

With a cheeky grin, she held up a black box with an LED display on one side. It was no bigger than the palm of her hand. "Planted a tracking device on him."

"What if he lost it?"

She sat up straight, proud of herself, and she had every right to be. "He won't. It's hidden inside something I know he'll keep with him no matter what."

Holding the box in her left hand, she used her thumb to turn it on. It made no noise, for which Clint was thankful. If anyone else were in the forest, mercenarys, for instance, they wouldn't hear the beep.

Natasha stood, turning in a circle to get her bearings. She stopped facing North by Northeast. "That way."

Hill stood and stretched, not bothering to cover a yawn. "Then you're on point. I'll take our six."

Clint started to protest, but both women ignored him and went about the business of policing the campsite. The MRE packaging was biodegradable and Clint used his knife to dig a hole to bury them.

When done, Hill and Natasha mounted their mules and pointedly waited for him to do the same and take his place in the middle. Reconciled to not getting his way, Clint aimed his mule in between the others and they were off.

About an hour into the ride, Clint thought about the last time he'd seen Adele before her death. They'd gone to dinner and back to her place in Alexandria. She fell asleep while they were watching an On Demand movie that she'd wanted to see. He had to leave for New York in the morning meaning he couldn't stay the night as he still had to pack. Careful not to wake her, Clint had carried Adele into the bedroom and laid her on the bed. He removed her shoes and pulled the quilt over her. Leaving a note wasn't necessary as this had happened before. Now, Clint wished he'd taken the time to write a couple of lines, even if it was only "see you in a few days."

An unfamiliar dip in the pit of his stomach made him feel odd, and eventually he realized that what he was feeling was guilt about his interest in Yates, as if he were being disloyal to Adele. Clint and the SHIELD pilot had been in a monogamous relationship though neither of them had professed any sort of deep emotion to the other. Their exclusivity was more of a convenience as well as neither of them having the time or energy to cultivate romantic interactions with others.

So the next question was what should he do about it? If he made his interest known, what would Yates say? Clint knew she wasn't hooked up with anyone, they'd established that much in their time together. There wasn't much he could do about it at the moment anyway. Yates was in Hungary, or would be in a few days. They would then be more than sixty-four hundred miles apart on different continents in different hemispheres.

_Why are you even thinking about it, Barton? Get your priorities straight! Find Banner then go to the meet. Anything else comes later._

~~O~~

There was little conversation during the ride. Not out loud at least. Hill watched Barton beating himself up and could give a good guess as to why or rather _who_ he was doing it over. She had seen the way Barton and Wolfe looked at each other. Not that she had expected a wedding announcement any time soon, it at all. They were, however, headed in the general direction of at least cohabitating. And while Barton and Wolfe complimented each other, Hill was of the opinion that any long-term romantic alliance between them was doomed to failure because they were too much alike. In that respect, Yates was a much better fit. Barton knew it too or he would've asked to have her reassigned. The fact that he didn't said a lot. It was what Barton _hadn't_ said that gave it away.

The conversation always started out the same.

_Another probie, Hill? When has that __ever__ worked out for __anyone__?_

Now, whenever she asked, "How's it going with your new probie, Barton?" he would say, "Fine. Why?"

Holding in a sigh, Hill called out, "Hey, fearless leader. What say we make a pit stop?"

Both agents turned at the same time, Barton opening then closing his mouth and glancing over his shoulder at Romanoff, deferring to his partner.

"Twenty minutes. Don't wander off."

Dismounting, Hill held in a groan at the stiffness in her nether regions. Once she'd attended to the needs of her body, she massaged the sore areas, performed a few stretches and felt better for it. Returning to the mules, she pulled out a bottle of water and took a long drink. All they'd brought with them was the MREs and water for two days, weapons and one change of clothes each. Their plans were to reach Banner's location in the next twenty-four to thirty-six hours, let the lovers get it out of their systems then head for the rendezvous.

She returned the bottle to her saddle pack, propped her right leg on a low branch, leaning forward to stretch her hamstring and glute, groaning silently as the sore muscles protested. Switching, she did the same on the left. Standing up straight, she bent forward until she could grab her ankles, exhaling as she did so, inhaling on the way up.

Bending backward, she was halfway to a backbend when the crack of a branch brought her upright, the 9mm in her right hand. Holding her breath, she listened intently, but the sound wasn't repeated. Hill gave a moment's thought to calling out to Barton and Romanoff when they entered the small clearing from opposite sides. Relaxing, she returned the Taurus to its place of concealment. "What took you so long?"

Romanoff looked at her with that unblinking stare then turned away. "Let's get going."

She bolted into the saddle, waited for Barton and Romanoff to do the same then they were off again. Again, the ride was free of conversation, and that's just how Hill liked it.

~~O~~

It was past lunch time, and for the third day in a row, Bruce had been inundated by people from other villages coming to take advantage of his generosity. It gave him a good feeling when a young mother touched him on the hand and smiled after her child received a shot that would ensure he or she wouldn't come down with one of the childhood diseases that were prevalent in this part of the world.

Again, he thought about returning to pure medicine where he saw patients rather than the research he was doing now as a SHIELD scientist. The projects he'd done in conjunction with Stark Industries that had specific applications for SHIELD were stimulating, filling him with enthusiasm for his field that had been lacking in previous years. But now, being here and helping those in need, it gave him more satisfaction than sitting at a computer. Granted, he was still being guarded, but for a different reason. In the city, the bodyguard was a buffer between him and the public to prevent another hulk-out. Here, the guards were for _his_ protection.

Mercenarys had been known to steal medical supplies which they would then sell on the black market, making an enormous profit. When there was resistance, people were injured and sometimes killed because they dared to stand up for themselves. Just such an event had happened the first time he'd gone on the run from Betty's father, General Thaddeus Ross.

Dalva entered the clinic, using a blanket to cover the opening. "Dr. Bruce, it is time for the mid-day meal. You should have something to eat and get some rest. I will have the remaining patients do the same."

"I'll take something to eat, but the nap will have to wait. Some of these people spent more than a day getting here. They've waited long enough."

The young woman dipped her chin, a small smile playing on her lips. "You yourself have said that one is more productive when rested. I will tell the patients to wait and you will rest for one hour after you've eaten."

Before Bruce could object, Dalva was gone again. He heard her send someone to bring him a plate of food then she told those waiting that they too should take time to eat and relax. Not one protested the announcement, and Bruce felt a little better about taking time for himself.

The cover over the entry twitched aside and the young girl from the other day stepped inside, a plate of food in one hand. She set it in front of him, dipped her chin once and was gone again.

Bruce ate everything he'd been given, wiped his hands and mouth and stood. A surge of fatigue made him yawn, and he was glad that Dalva had taken control because a nap sounded really good right now. Going to the pallet in the corner, he kicked off his shoes and stripped out of his shirt, leaving the tank shirt and pants on. He lay down and was asleep within moments.

Sometime later, he awakened without knowing what had caused it. Rolling to his feet, Bruce pulled the blanket aside just enough to see that Enzo, Diogo and one other were conferring in harsh whispers. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but to go by their expressions, it wasn't good. The men with Enzo nodded and rushed off.

Bruce went to relieve himself, and by the time he returned, so had his patients. With a smile of welcome, he ushered in a young mother with a boy about six. Dalva came in and helped him get a medical history for both. The girl studiously wrote everything down in a notebook. Bruce looked it over then took out the vials and syringes he needed. When the boy saw the needle, he immediately began to cry. Bruce spoke to him soothingly in his own language. "What's your name?"

"Tomas," he said with a tremble to his voice.

"Do you know what being brave is?" The boy shook his head. All while he talked, Bruce prepared the inoculations out of the boy's and his mother's sight. He cleansed the injection site and removed the needle cover. "Bravery is when you're the only one who knows you're scared. That doesn't mean you should never be afraid. Just don't let it rule your life. Use it. Before I came here, I was afraid of many things. Being alone, of traveling to a strange place, even learning a new language."

Tomas watched Bruce with wide eyes as he talked, and before long, it was all over. He cleansed the area again and gave the boy a grin. "See? All done. Be good for Mama, Tomas."

"_Sim_, Dr. Bruce."

The mother flashed Bruce a smile and led her son out the front door. The next couple of hours were much the same, just as it had been for the previous days. Calm mother and child, or even the men who had never received an injection, give the shot, and move on to the next one. And unlike previous days, Enzo or one of his people stayed nearby, listening and watching as if they expected trouble. He asked, but no one would say. Just remind him not to leave the village without an escort.

Bruce was about to take a short break when the sound of jeep engines roared through the forest, disturbing animals and people alike. Rushing outside, Bruce looked around, and on the other side of the village, an ancient jeep covered in mud drove through the village, the driver swerving and glancing over his shoulder as the man in the back fired at something behind him.

The people scattered, running into the huts, screaming in fear. The driver slammed on the brakes and the jeep jerked to a stop, both men falling out of the vehicle, frantically looking for refuge, but from what, Bruce couldn't tell. If men like these mercenarys were afraid, shouldn't Bruce be afraid too?

But Bruce _wasn't_ afraid. He was angry, and he quickly employed meditation to keep the Other Guy under control. In all the time he'd been traveling through the Amazon, there hadn't been a need for the Other Guy to make an appearance. If necessary, Bruce would bring him out, but he didn't want to do that if the situation could be resolved by other means.

Another jeep rumbled into the center of the village, skidding to a stop behind the first one. These two stood their ground against an unseen foe. The man hefted a GPMG, aiming at a mother cowering with her child behind a tree, ordering them to come out. The mother refused so the man ran to her, wrenching the little girl from her hands in spite of her cries and pleading, using the child as a shield.

_Oh, yeah. Time to let the Other Guy teach them a lesson._

Closing his eyes, Bruce clenched his fists, breathed deeply, and summoned the power of the Hulk.

**TBC**

**A/N: **

_Primeiro-tenente_: First Lieutenant

_Exército Brasileiro_: Brazilian Army

_Agência Brasileira de Inteligência_, ABIN: Brazilian Intelligence Agency

_Misto quente__ - Grilled ham and cheese sandwich, a popular breakfast food in Brazil_


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **Sequel to _Taking a Chance_. It contains massive spoilers for _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_. If you haven't seen the movie, some of what happens may not make sense.

I received some helpful input from Lady Pandora, and she did the Beta. Any mistakes after that are all mine.

If anyone is wondering where ladygris has been, she's experiencing some real life issues that are taking all of her time and energy. Prayer would be helpful. Thank you, on her behalf.

Namaste,

~Sandy

**Avengers**

**A Hole in the World  
Chapter 5**

Akoni watched the woman going by the name of Roxanne Chambers as she read the note from Barton. The Black Widow and Hawkeye had departed the hotel the day before, leaving her behind. Recently, HYDRA had received information telling them that SHIELD now possessed technology that could bring the recently deceased back to life and that it had been used to restore one of their own. Such technology would be quite beneficial to HYDRA's plans for world domination.

For all their hard work, those HYDRA agents entangled within the hierarchy of SHIELD could only find basic information in the form of a single word: Tahiti. That was why Akoni had been sent to the island. Surely the answers could be found here. All he found were drunken tourists, annoying locals and still-loyal SHIELD agents set adrift during the insurrection. Nothing about technology for resurrecting the dead. If it existed, it wasn't on Tahiti-Nui, Tahiti-Iti or anywhere in French Polynesia.

In Akoni's opinion, the attempt to wrest control from Fury and the Council had come too soon. Had they exercised patience for just a few more weeks, the world would've been theirs for the taking. However, Akoni, being merely an infiltration specialist, hadn't been consulted. Now all of HYDRA was in disarray, many of its followers imprisoned. Even more had been killed when the third Insight helicarrier crashed into the Potomac.

Still, there remained a large number of those loyal to HYDRA's cause, and as their motto decreed, two more would take the place of each "head" that had been cut off.

The man whose real name wasn't Akoni, nor was he from Tahiti left the bar at the end of his shift and returned to his residence. There, he packed and sent a message to his superiors to inform them that he would soon be returning to the fold. Unfortunately, he would not be in possession of the knowledge they were seeking.

~~O~~

Natasha estimated Bruce's location at less than a mile ahead, according to the tracker. She was about to say so when she heard something that didn't belong to the forest. Cocking her head to one side, Natasha raised her hand as a signal to Clint and Hill.

Clint unslung the bow while Hill readied the GPMG she carried. "Sounds like a car engine."

"Jeep or Range Rover," Clint added.

As one, the trio dismounted and tied their mules so they wouldn't wander off during the coming fight. For two days they'd only seen animals, giving most of them a wide berth, especially the poisonous frogs. None of them thought it was a coincidence that they came upon humans just as they were getting close to Bruce's location. He probably had a great deal of medical supplies that would be worth lots of money on the black market.

They each took off in a different direction. Natasha knew Barton would find a tall tree to use as a vantage point. She tucked the GPMG under her arm to free her hands to activate the Widow's Bites, a high pitched whine reaching her ears. As she crept through the forest, now she could hear voices speaking Portuguese. They were talking about stealing the medical supplies from the American doctor to sell on the black market. The leader ordered that there be no witnesses left behind. To Natasha, that meant they intended to kill everyone, especially Bruce. The contempt the leader had for Americans came through in his tone. These mercenaries wouldn't get a chance to harm anyone else. If that meant they had to die, so be it. She wouldn't kill them just for spite or because she could. She'd kill them because they forced her hand.

Crouching behind a bromeliad using its bright red flowers as cover, Natasha hooked the strap of her GPMG over her head to leave her hands free and took out a knife. This jeep had a driver and two passengers, two men and one woman. Hardly worth her trouble, but there was no way in hell she'd allow them to go free.

She drew her left hand back, waiting until the jeep slowed down to navigate a narrow curve to throw the knife, hitting it at its weakest point, near the rim. The driver swore as the jeep swerved, nearly hitting a Brazil nut tree. The woman grabbed the dash to keep from being thrown out, but the second man wasn't as fortunate. He fell, landing on his right shoulder and screaming in pain. The woman jumped out to help him, leaving just the driver for Natasha to contend with. _Two down_, she thought with satisfaction.

As she drew near to Bruce's location, the distinctive twang of Clint's bow firing made her smile. His preferred weapon made better sense in this situation, not to mention that it made him look a little like a modern-day Robin Hood. Natasha made the mistake of saying so out loud. Clint already had a big ego, and that comment made it worse.

Natasha followed the driver as he rushed through the undergrowth toward the village, presumably to catch up with their leader in another vehicle or use the villagers as hostages.

When they reached the outer edge of the village, the man took out a radio. To stop him, Natasha shot one of her Widow's Bites. It shorted out the radio before he could make his call. His body twitched for a few seconds then he fell to the ground face first. She flipped him onto his back, taking in his unkempt appearance, scraggly beard, sweat-stained clothes and a kerchief around his neck. Only his boots and weapons were in good repair and fairly new. It showed where his priorities lay, and they weren't with personal hygiene.

She removed his weapons, adding them to the arsenal they were accumulating. Then, she grabbed one leg and dragged him into the village square, dropping him next to the others while Clint had villagers tie them up.

Feeling that she was being watched, Natasha turned and saw Bruce for the first time. As she walked across the square toward the man she loved, she couldn't get enough of looking at him. His hair had grown out some, as had his beard. But seeing that he was alright, that nothing bad had happened to him, an affectionate smile came over her features. He smiled too, making his brown eyes sparkle with an inner fire.

"You're here," was all he said. Softly, as if he thought she might be a figment of his imagination.

Touching her wrists, she deactivated the Widow's Bites, glancing up at him from under her lashes. "Miss me?"

Bruce returned her smile. "Yes."

That one word sent her into his arms, grabbing onto him, and he did the same, holding her tightly against his chest where she could hear his heart beating in time with hers.

~~O~~

Bruce's attempt to change into the Hulk was interrupted when he heard a distinctive _zap-crackle_. He recognized the sound though he hadn't been near anything powered by electricity since he left Rayssa and Miguel's home in Sao Paulo. But this was different. Too small to be made by a generator or a car battery. The last time he heard that sound had to be more than a year ago. His heartbeat sped up just a little.

He started forward, and the man holding the little girl swung his weapon around, letting loose a wild volley of gunfire. Bruce dived back into the clinic, ducking and covering, praying that no one was hit. It stopped just as suddenly, the trigger clicking as the weapon jammed. The man swore as the girl began struggling, the mercenary unsure if he should keep hold of his hostage or let her go in order to unjam his weapon. The decision was made for him when the girl bit him on the hand, and he automatically released her.

At the door again, watching the child run to her mother, Bruce heard another sound, a whoosh- thwack and suddenly, an arrow was sticking out of the mercenary's chest. He slumped to the ground and one of the young men from another village ran forward to grab the weapon and retreat.

Bruce's excitement level increased when he heard a familiar voice shouting, "_That's_ what you get for hurtin' a little girl, you sonofa*****!"

Barton. If _he_ was here, did that mean Natasha was nearby?

A moment later, the archer marched into view holding two of the mercenaries at gunpoint, his bow and quiver slung over his back. Bruce barely registered that Hill was there as well because Natasha stepped out of the bushes dragging another mercenary. With a growl, she dumped him next to the dead one while Barton ordered two of the village men to tie him and the others to a tree.

Natasha was talking softly with Barton while Hill kept a watchful eye on the surrounding forest. Barton was saying, "We could to go after the three that got away."

"I'm up for that," Hill responded a little too eagerly. "After I pee and eat, of course."

Deciding it was time to make his presence known, Bruce shove his hands into his pockets and strolled casually over to them as if they were friends meeting on the streets of New York or DC. "You're in luck. Abella makes a great _feijoada_, and the pork is fresh."

Natasha inhaled, her eyes widening slightly though only someone who knew her well would've noticed. She came to stand in front of Bruce, one side of her mouth turning up in a grin.

Bruce couldn't help himself. He opened his mouth to speak and all that came out was, "You're here."

She touched her wrists, powering down the Widow's Bites, still with that mischievous grin. "Miss me?"

Bruce returned the grin. "Yes."

Suddenly, she was in his arms, holding on so tight Bruce could barely breathe, but he didn't care. She was here, and they were together. Anything more was just icing on the cake.

~~O~~

"Hill?" The dark-haired woman turned when Barton called her name. "Nat had two bogies, one male, and one female. You?"

"One. Male. Headed in that direction." She pointed with her chin, but didn't take her eyes off of the three tied up in front of her.

"Nat?" His partner and Banner crossed the open area and circled around the fire. They weren't holding hands, though they did stick close to each other. "Same. The man's injured. They won't get very far, wherever they're headed."

Several of the village men were holding the GPMGs pointed at the mercenaries as if they knew how to use them. Natasha didn't like it, but didn't say anything.

Now that everyone was safe, there were several options available. Let the bad guys-and girl-go so they can regroup and go back to being horrible examples of the human race. They could let the villagers go after them to exact their own brand of justice. If they turned these three over to the authorities and buried the dead one, the leader of the mercenaries could send others after them in retaliation. They could also do nothing. Or take a more drastic step.

Switching from Portuguese to Russian, Barton laid out his thoughts, finishing with "…and we can't leave the village undefended. The only thing that'll keep them safe is if we engage the services of specialists."

Barton adjusted the bow and quiver crossing his chest. Flicking his eyes over to Hill and back to his partner, Barton looked toward the shack from where he'd seen Banner emerge during the fight. "We got this, Nat."

~~O~~

Flashing Barton a smile of thanks, Natasha slipped her hand into Bruce's. "Show me the clinic."

Bruce led her toward the largest shack on the far side of the village square. "I should warn you, it's also where I live."

She chuckled. "I'll take that into consideration."

They were within a few steps of the entry when Natasha heard someone moving around inside. She pulled her hand from Bruce's, and a 9mm appeared as she crept forward. Someday, he'd find out where she was hiding them. "Tash…"

"Sh!" she commanded, ignoring his annoyed huff. Taking a breath, she swept the blanket aside and burst into the shack. "Hands in the air! Now!"

A young girl stood transfixed in the middle of the room holding a stack of bowls, beakers and other medical instruments. They fell to the floor with a crash. The girl's mouth opened in a silent scream, but she was too scared to let it out.

"This is Dalva. She's my assistant." Bruce touched Natasha on the shoulder, and her gun hand dipped until it pointed at the floor. He went to Dalva and put an arm around her shoulder for comfort, his voice softening as he switched to English. "Dalva, this is Natasha. I told you about her."

Finally, Dalva relaxed, though she didn't take her eyes off Natasha even after the gun was put of sight. "Yes. She is your, how do you say in English, _esposa_?"

Natasha huffed. "I'm _not_ his…"

Bruce interrupted her. Something only he and Clint could do without facing her wrath. "Yes. _Minha_ _esposa_. Run along, and I'll clean this up."

~~O~~

Dalva waited until Natasha had moved from the doorway then quickly darted out of the shack. Her running footsteps could be heard heading toward the fire.

And just as he knew would happen once they were alone, Natasha peered up at him with _that_ look, the one he and anyone who crossed her encountered at one time or another, but he refused to be intimidated. "I'm not sure _how_ to characterize our relationship. I love you and you love me. We don't live together, not in the usual sense. We're not in sixth grade so calling you my girlfriend would be silly, unless silliness is what you're looking for. We're not engaged and we aren't married. What would _you_ have told her?"

By the time he stopped talking, she was standing in front of him, holding his hands. She let go to slide her palms up the outsides of his arms to his shoulders, but she didn't stop there. She kept going until his face was cradled between her hands, thumbs lightly rubbing over his cheeks. "Shut up and…"

He let her to finish. Wrapping his arms around her waist, Bruce pulled Natasha tightly to him, joining their mouths in a sensual dance. Bruce would've kept going, but Natasha put a stop to it, and she was right. He hadn't worn the heart monitor for more than a month and could feel his heart rate increasing too fast. Rushing to calm himself, he pressed his forehead against hers, using a gentle tone to convey his emotions. "All the time we were apart, the place where you used to be, there was a giant gaping hole in my world. I found myself walking around it in the daytime, and falling into it at night. I missed you like _hell_, Natasha."

"I missed you _so_ much, _plyushevyy mishka__moya_, and I will _never_ let you go again," she whispered. "I _swear_ it."

Looking into her eyes, Bruce felt as if he were drowning, the humid air so thick in his lungs he was only able to say one word, "Ditto."

~~O~~

Banner and Romanoff entered the clinic and a moment later, a young girl came running out, immediately going to the side of one of the young men who had helped tie up the mercenaries. He didn't embrace her, but he did take her hand and give it a comforting squeeze as she gave a summary of what happened in the shack. Hill smiled to herself. The Black Widow was in love, but that wouldn't stop her from being herself.

On Hill's left, Barton shifted his feet, and to her surprise, murmured, "Though lovers be lost, love shall not; and death shall have no dominion."

"Dylan Thomas," Hill replied automatically. "Those two may be the perfect couple."

"You said that about _us_, once."

Resisting an eye roll, Hill instead used her death glare on its lowest setting. "No. I said that what we _had_ was perfect _at that time_. Just the occasional bump and grind for stress relief."

One side of his mouth turned up in a wry grin. "And you had a _lot_ of stress."

"_Idi v zhopu_, Barton." Time for a subject change. Still in Russian, Hill said, "I'll contact the team. Wilson will probably want in on it too. It's time to put the fear of God into these guys."

All business now, Barton tucked a thumb in his belt. "Let's wait until Doc's done giving Nat the fifty-cent tour."

Barton's words might have been considered snarky, but his tone was not. He was being serious, his voice filled with genuine affection for his partner, and Hill let him have it just this once without a suitably scathing come-back.

Pacing away from the villagers so she could speak freely, Hill gave terse instructions to Ryan Kripke, the agent who had been her right hand on the helicarrier. She had sent him off to one of the top-secret SHIELD locations where he was in the process of locating agents who had gone off the grid after the fall of SHIELD. He and his hand-picked team were also going through the back-up database to clean out any HYDRA viruses and create a list of the agents who were still loyal as well as those who were not.

That thought brought her around to Coulson and the fact that her companions didn't know their friend was alive, that he'd been given the position of director, or that Ward was HYDRA. Hill shook her head ruefully at finding out that May had beat the **** out of Ward. He was still able to stand at the end, barely, but she'd fractured his larynx so he couldn't even _try_ to talk his way out of it. It was just as well. No one still with SHIELD would ever believe that he'd only joined HYDRA to please his SO, John Garrett.

Hill vowed to kill Ward herself if Leo Fitz died, or had been permanently disabled due to his actions. She would have plenty of help, too. Coulson, May, Simmons, Skye and Triplett would be happy to take care of Ward and make it look like an accident. Then, Hill wouldn't have to lift a finger. She also admitted, to herself at least, that it _had_ been a poop with knives, not a porcupine.

Hill had never liked Garrett, and the feeling had been mutual. She also found no remorse for the loss of his life. She hadn't been there when Coulson killed him, but she imagined it in her head over and over again, a thousand different ways, all of them slow and incredibly painful.

Catching Barton's eye, she gave him a nod to let him know that their plan was in motion. A show of force and a warning to the leader of the mercenaries worked for Hill. Less paperwork and less long- winded _discussions_ with the local authorities over jurisdiction.

Hill received a signal just as Banner and Romanoff joined them over an hour later. There was no need for her to consult them or Barton on the next step. They formed a semi-circle in front of the captives, Banner with his hands shoved into his pockets. Romanoff had her fists jammed into her hips, Widow's Bites glowing. Barton stared them down, his thumbs jammed in his belt, one hip thrust to the side. Hill herself had tucked her arms behind her back. All pinned the captives with a strangely similar glare. She spoke in their language to make certain they understood every word. "We've located your base of operations and will be giving you a lift back."

The men began to all talk at once, but no one was listening because a strange sound had entered their realm. A few minutes later, Hill received a message. To the others she said, "They're here."

Barton directed the villagers to release the mercenaries, and without being told, the men picked up their fallen comrade and followed Hill, Barton and Romanoff on their six. Banner brought up the far rear without knowing exactly what she had planned, though he knew it would be epic.

Hill led them to a Quinjet idling in a flat area next to a grove of coffee bean trees, standing back while everyone went aboard. Barton stayed near the hatch control, closing it up once everyone was seated. The ship took off with the mercenaries staring around them wide-eyed with a mixture of curiosity and fear.

"What about our friends?" Barton asked the pilot.

"On their way, sir." They were only in the air a few minutes when the pilot announced, "Wheels down in three, Commander Hill."

The touchdown was barely felt under normal circumstances, but Hill had something else in mind. This time they landed with a solid thump that rattled the mercenaries even more when they almost fell out of their seats. The hatch opened and the mercenaries ran down the ramp as fast as they could. Barton picked up the body in a fireman's carry, walked down the ramp behind the others and dumped him in front of the crowd that had gathered, the arrow still sticking out of his chest. One man stood slightly in front of the rest showing him to be the leader, confidence rolling off of him in waves.

_I'll see your confidence and raise you a huge butt-load of arrogance, pal!_

Hands hanging loosely at her sides, Hill caught and held the eyes of the leader, her superior smile growing with each moment, though it only showed in her eyes. "My name is Commander Hill of SHIELD. In spite of what you've heard, SHIELD _is_ still in operation. Before we get to the threatening portion of our program, let me introduce you to a few of my friends."

A whoosh and metallic thump signaled the arrival of Iron Man. From the corner of her eye, Hill saw Stark land on one knee and slowly rise up until he was standing. Fear showed in the leader's face when lightning flashed through the cloudless sky and Thor landed beside Stark.

Next to arrive was Captain America wearing his ubiquitous patriotic uniform, falling out of the sky to land solidly next to Thor. A moment later, the Falcon swooped through the tree tops, lightly touching down next to the others, his wings folding into the pack worn on his back. He used his right hand to push the goggles up on his forehead then crossed his arms.

"Iron Man," without opening his face shield, Stark flipped a salute, "the god of Thunder, Thor," the demi-god inclined his head in greeting, "Captain America," Steve nodded to the leader, "the Black Widow," Romanoff's Widow's Bites whined as they powered up, "Hawkeye," Barton winked and grinned at the woman standing to the leader's left, "and Falcon. He's new."

Wilson nodded. "'Sup?"

"And Dr. Banner is standing in for the Hulk. Everyone knows the Hulk doesn't like it when his friends and innocent civilians are attacked. However, he _does_ like to smash things." Banner smiled uncomfortably, nodding once as Hill continued, "You've no doubt heard about the alien invasion over Manhattan, and how the Chitauri were defeated. These are the people who saved Earth. They have made it their business to keep our world and her people safe.

"Going forward, those living in the Amazon rain forest are under the protection of the Avengers _and_ SHIELD. If any one of them should come to harm that can be directly attributed to your or anyone else's illegal activities then consider the rest of your lives forfeit as you will be spending your remaining years in a very deep, very dark hole. If you ever find yourself thinking 'The Avengers won't find out' run, far and fast, because we'll be sending someone around now and then to keep an eye on things."

Hill swept her gaze over the crowd numbering approximately thirty, coming back to the leader. The man's dark beady eyes flitted from Iron Man to Thor, then over to Captain America and the Falcon, taking in Banner, the Black Widow and Hawkeye. Turning on her heel, Hill returned to the Quinjet. Iron Man and Thor shot into the sky. Falcon, Hawkeye, Black Widow, Captain America and Banner joined Hill, taking seats in the rear.

Once they were in the air, Hill exhaled loudly. "I think he wet himself." She let one eyebrow crawl up her forehead a fraction of an inch, sat down, and grinned. "That was _fun_."

~~O~~

The rest of the day was spent around the village fire. Natasha, Bruce, Clint and Hill translated for those who didn't speak the language, and in spite of that barrier, everyone had a great time.

Thor especially enjoyed the coffee, bellowing the Portuguese word for another, "_Outro!_" A group of single women giggled behind their hands every time Thor smiled at them.

The younger men gathered around Stark, Rogers and Wilson with Clint translating as they asked question after question about the technology of the suit, shield and pack. As Stark's father had some input into the design of the flying pack, he was best qualified to answer the technological questions, and he did, in detail.

As soon as she could, Natasha snuck away to join Bruce sitting with Dalva on the other side of the fire away from the others. The girl got up when she approached, giving her a wide berth as she trotted to the side of one of the younger men.

Natasha sat down and nudged him with her shoulder. He graced her with an affectionate smile in response. Taking his hand, she ducked under his arm, leaning against his side. He took the hint and held her close, dropping a kiss on the top of her head. Tilting her head back, she offered him a kiss and he accepted. When it ended, Natasha turned so her back was against him and he could put both arms around her, staying just like that for a long while.

~~O~~

As politely as he could, Steve separated from the group. This had been his easiest mission to date. More like one of his USO tours without the singing and dancing. All he and the others had to do was put in an appearance.

He went to relieve himself then returned, standing at the edge of the tree line where he watched Natasha and Bruce cuddled together, looking very happy. Taking out his pad and pencil, he wrote down several of the Portuguese words he learned today so he wouldn't forget.

Natasha had let the curls come back to her hair, and Steve had to admit that he preferred it that way. Bruce did as well to go by the reverent way he was running his fingers through the strands.

She turned so that her back was against Bruce's chest and closed her eyes, a serenely blissful smile on her face as she rubbed her palms over the backs of his hands where they rested over her ribs. Steve had only seen that look a few times, and each one had to do with Bruce. The night of her birthday last November had been the first. The next was just before Natasha sent Bruce to Brazil. And now made three.

Turning to a blank page, Steve put pencil to page and began to sketch the couple, hoping they'd stay in place long enough for him to finish. When he returned to New York, he'd redo it larger and give it to them for a special occasion. Natasha's birthday. Or maybe Christmas. Yeah. Christmas.

Just as Steve finished filling in the buildings and trees, two of the younger kids came over. He tucked the pad into his pocket and took their hands, allowing them to drag him back to the fire for dinner, and as Bruce mentioned, Abella did make a mean _feijoada_, which apparently was the Brazilian version of Black Bean Soup. While he was eating, the kids took turns wearing his cowl and pretending to throw the shield. Steve tried to keep his attention on the kids, but it kept straying over to Natasha and Bruce, wishing that someday he would find a love like theirs.

~~O~~

It had long been full dark when Hill joined Romanoff and Banner, reluctant to disturb their reunion. If they had retreated to the clinic, she wouldn't have bothered them. As she approached, Romanoff moved out of Banner's arms.

"I sent someone after the mules. They're being cared for with the rest of the farm animals until we're ready to get back to civilization. Unless you're going to stay for a while."

Casting a quick glance at Banner, Natasha's smile faded. "Can't. We're meeting Yates and the others in a couple of weeks."

Banner didn't seem to be surprised by the news. "Then I get you all to myself for the next fourteen days."

"Absolutely, _lyubimaya_."

Pointing her chin at the rest of the group, Hill said, "The others are leaving. Come say good-bye."

~~O~~

"You're staying? Clint too?" Natasha asked though she knew the answer. As long as _she_ stayed, Hill and Clint would be at her side. It was an unspoken agreement between the friends that they would stick together as much as possible until this crisis had passed. Or at least until their enemies stopped looking for them. That wouldn't happen for a very long time, so they had to be hyper-vigilant now that they no longer had the protection of SHIELD as back-up.

"He wants to see Rayssa and Miguel again." From the slight tightening of the skin around Hill's eyes, Natasha understood what Hill was not saying. Mentioning her contact in Sao Paulo was a reminder that Natasha had unfinished business with Bruce. Before they made any sort of long-term commitment, he would have to know everything.

When Natasha confronted Loki in his cell, she knew that most of the staff on board the helicarrier would be watching their interaction, including Stark, Fury, Thor, Steve, and especially Bruce. He had to be intensely curious about some of the things Loki said yet he hadn't once asked. She'd been relieved not to have to put into words those particular events, but Hill and Clint were right. As the man who loved her with his whole heart, he deserved to know everything about her.

_Everything_.

**TBC**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **Sequel to _Taking a Chance_. It contains massive spoilers for _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_. If you haven't seen the movie, some of what happens may not make sense.

I received some helpful input from Lady Pandora, and she did the Beta. Any mistakes after that are all mine.

Ladygris has been experiencing some real life issues that are taking all of her time and energy. Prayer would be helpful. If you would like to send her a good-will message, I encourage you to do so. Thank you, on her behalf.

Namaste,

~Sandy

**Avengers**

**A Hole in the World  
Chapter 6**

Bruce deserved to know all her secrets, even those she hadn't told Clint or Fury. And once he'd heard some of the things she'd done, Natasha was certain he would look at her differently, as if she couldn't be trusted.

That's how life had been for the first few months after she'd changed sides. Most of the other SHIELD agents treated her kindly, but with a touch of suspicion, as if they were waiting for her to turn on them. It had taken a long time to gain their trust. A situation helped by the fact that Fury, Hill and Clint trusted her without reservation.

Natasha and Bruce bid their friends good-bye with Hill and Clint staying behind. _Good. I'll have someone to ride back to Sao Paulo with when Bruce sends me packing. Or maybe I'll just roam the rainforest the rest of my life and be the new Ghost Who Walks._

They watched the Quinjet take off then walked back to the village. Clint had been offered a bed, but he declined, choosing to sleep in a tree instead. Abella asked Hill to share her home, and the SHIELD commander readily agreed. Natasha heard them talking and laughing like old friends. Eventually, all was quiet.

Inside the clinic, Natasha removed her boots and all of her weapons while Bruce leaned against the wall, arms and ankles crossed, watching her with a smile. She purposely turned her back to unbutton her shirt, just reaching the bottom when Bruce said, "Don't tell me you're shy about undressing in front of me."

Dropping her hands down to her sides, she turned to let him see that she was bare underneath the shirt. "Shy? Moi? Whatever gave you that idea?"

Bruce pushed off the wall, taking slow and very deliberate steps toward her, his hands coming up to skim over the smooth skin of her ribs under her shirt and pull her close. "Nothing. Said it so you'd prove me wrong."

She framed his face with her palms, using them to bring him down for a long and very hot kiss. Bruce's hands began to roam, and Natasha put a stop to it before things could get out of hand by gripping his wrists. He wasn't wearing the heart monitor. She stepped back until he was forced to release her. "Bruce, we have to talk."

"You look so serious." He lightly touched her upper arms. "What is it?"

Because she couldn't think with him touching her, she backed up until his hands fell away. "There are things about me that I should've told you long ago."

He didn't appear concerned. "You will, when you're ready."

Snorting humorlessly, she faced the back wall, buttoned her shirt and crossed her arms. "I'm ready _now_, but let's do it in the morning. I want us to have one night together, just in case…"

"Just in case what? Please tell me what's bothering you, Tash." His tone showed more concern for her than himself.

Natasha took a deep breath then boldly faced him again. "You could hate me when you find out some of the things I've done."

Bruce came toward her, arms ready to embrace her again. Natasha could've avoided him, but didn't want to. She wanted to touch him and have him touch her. Laying her head on his chest, hands between them so she could feel his heartbeat, she closed her eyes.

"I could never hate you, Natasha."

He only used her full name when he wanted her to know he was being completely serious and utterly truthful. And it made her love him more. "I'll remember you said that in the morning."

His hands smoothed up and down her back and soon, the stiffness went out of her muscles. Bruce led her over to the pallet that was his bed. He kicked off his shoes and lay down on his side. Natasha lay down facing him, her arm around his neck and one leg slung over his hip. She wanted to at least pretend that things would always be like this between them. In the morning, she would see if he had spoken the truth.

As if he could read her mind, Bruce trailed the backs of his fingers lightly over her cheek and under her chin, tilting her head back so he could drop a sweet kiss on her lips. "I meant what I said. And since we're confessing, I'll go first. I was attracted to you from the first moment I saw you. Even when I knew you were trying to seduce me into helping locate the Tesseract."

"Oh?"

"M-hmm. Though I went with you because of the danger the Tesseract posed to Earth. Not because…"

Unbidden, a smile came to her lips as she finished the thought, "…I batted my eyelashes at you."

He chuckled and rolled onto his back. Natasha scooted around until she was positioned with her head on his shoulder and his arms around her. One leg came up and over to rest between his knees. They talked for a while, Natasha catching Bruce up on the news about HYDRA and the collapse of SHIELD and the US's intelligence network, and as much as she could about what they expected for the future.

When they were all talked out for the moment, they just held each other. They hadn't been intimate for over two months, and Natasha wasn't sure if Bruce had been keeping up his meditations. She was about to ask when the hand on her ribs relaxed and his breathing fell into the rhythm of sleep. And though she was tired, it was a long time before she was able to join him.

~~O~~

Enzo and two of his men prowled the perimeter of the village making Clint antsy every time one of them passed near his tree. He would've slept in the quarters with the other single men, but he preferred being where he could see everything when he awoke during the night.

Cradling the bow against his chest, Clint closed his eyes, more than ready for sleep to come, but a couple of things kept nagging at him.

First and most important: Yates.

He should've brought her with him to Brazil instead of letting her fend for herself until the meet in Hungary. Yates knew what she was doing when it came to staying small, not drawing the wrong kind of attention, but she was _his_ responsibility. He'd never forgive himself if something happened to her when he could've-_should've_ prevented it.

On the other side was the thought that if he didn't let her out of the nest, she'd never learn to fly. Except for that one lapse, she'd done well in her alias as a school teacher from Missouri, and she could be forgiven for it as the cause was sufficient.

The other was Natasha. She'd been quiet and introspective since they left the city, and naturally, it had to do with Banner. If Clint had to guess, he'd say that his partner had made the decision to clue him in on at least one of her deepest, darkest secrets, the incident that had precipitated SHIELD's decision to remove the Black Widow from the equation.

They'd crossed paths before he had been sent to assassinate her, but something told him they weren't privy to the whole story, and with her dead, they would never know. Rumors said she was the last of her kind. That the other Black Widows were dead, had been deprogrammed, or were in maximum security prisons around the world. The only way to find out one way or the other was to interrogate her. But that wouldn't work. She'd never talk. And she hadn't, not about that.

When Clint invited her in, he couldn't tell if she was relieved or disappointed that he hadn't killed her. They'd never talked about it so that part was still a mystery, and would stay that way because, dammit, he really didn't _want_ to know. It was more than just a possibility that the answer would be different today than in the beginning because now they no longer had just each other. She had Banner, and he had… No one. Not really.

Clint cared a great deal for Natasha. And years after their brief fling, he still cared about Hill. He also missed Adele, though that feeling was fading, replaced by more immediate concerns.

Feeling himself becoming tense, Clint closed his eyes, breathed deeply, and was soon asleep.

~~O~~

The sounds of the village awakening brought Bruce out of a dream that had been pleasant for a change, and all because of the woman at his side. During the night, she'd moved around until their positions were reversed and he slept on the outside edge of the pallet. He carefully extricated himself from her embrace, rolled to his feet and pulled on his shoes.

After a quick trip to relieve his bladder and wash up, he went to the cooking fire for coffee and breakfast for himself and Natasha, expecting her to be awake when he returned. She had rolled over, but was still asleep. He sat at the small table and sipped his coffee just watching her sleep. One hand was jammed up against her chin and the other under her head making her look sweet and vulnerable, like a little girl. And this time, that hand wasn't around the butt of a gun. Did that indicate the ultimate level of trust, that she had, for a short while, turned even her own safety over to Hill, Barton, Enzo, Diogo and the others? Bruce refused to believe that it was because she'd forgotten. Natasha _didn't_ forget.

And what could she want to talk about that it had to be done now? Had to be important or she'd have tossed it casually into the conversation last night. Why would she think he would hate her? He knew everything he needed to about Natasha Romanoff AKA the Black Widow AKA Whatever. Anything she'd done in the past didn't matter aside from the fact that it had turned her into the woman he loved. She should know by now that her actions since Barton made that different call had wiped out much of the red in her illusory ledger. The only person still keeping score was Natasha. Barton wasn't. Fury wasn't. And Bruce certainly wasn't. Then again, maybe this was just something she needed to do, to clear her conscience, to gain absolution. If so, then he was the _last_ person she should come to. He couldn't possibly grant forgiveness when he needed it for himself.

"Are you always so solemn first thing in the morning?"

Picking up the second cup of coffee, Bruce went to sit next to Natasha, handing her the cup. "Only when you're not around. I brought breakfast. Our talk will have to wait though. Patients from the surrounding villages started arriving before sunrise, and I'm guessing that what you have to say will take more than the few minutes available."

"After dinner then. We'll take a walk."

He chuckled. "You know, except for the flora and fauna, it's like I never left DC. Enzo and his people won't let me out of their sight. And just because you can't see them doesn't mean they're not around. Found that out the first night."

Her eyes took on amusement. "They're just following orders. If I tell them to stand down, they will." Setting the cup aside, she took his hand. "Have you been keeping up your meditations? I'm not asking for any wicked motives. I'm just concerned."

"I usually do a few minutes in the morning and at night before bed, and a little tai chi at lunchtime."

"Good. Why don't I get out of your way? Maybe help in the fields. I'll take Hill and Clint with me so they won't get in your hair."

Getting to his feet, Bruce pulled her up beside him and into his arms. "As long as I get a kiss before you go."

Her hands slid up his chest, over his shoulders and around his neck to urge his head down. They kissed, long and sweet, no demands. Just the promise of more to come. Then she was gone and Dalva was bringing in the first patient.

~~O~~

Tired in a way that felt good, Natasha trailed behind Hill, Clint and their hosts returning to the village for the mid-day meal. They were a little later than Natasha had expected because the village leader had agreed with her suggestion that they finish working the field they were on before taking a break.

As they neared the village square, Natasha could hear music, soft and gentle, calming to the mind. The group came to a stop just inside the clearing, loathe to disturb the serenity of the moment.

Abella sat to one side playing a _viola de cocho,_ a stringed instrument shaped like a viola, but this instrument was plucked, not strummed or bowed. One of the older men played the _atabaque_, a tall, wooden hand drum. Another older man played something called an _afoxé_. It was a _cabaça,_ a gourd wrapped in a net into which beads were threaded. The instrument was shaken to produce music. Dalva was also a part of the band playing a_ berimbau_, a single-string instrument that looked like a bow with a gourd attached to the bottom.

Then, Clint tapped her on the shoulder and pointed. On the far side of the square, Bruce was leading a group of villagers of all ages in a tai chi routine, one of the simpler ones Natasha had taught him. They were performing the Repulse Monkey, moving through Grasp Swallow's Tail and on to Single Whip and Cloud Hands. Very shortly, they faced Bruce, hands at their sides and feet together, ending by placing the left hand against the fist of the right hand and bowing.

Natasha crossed the square, honoring Bruce and his class with the same salute. The others drifted away leaving the couple standing alone. "Should we be calling you Sensei Banner?"

Bruce shoved his hands into his pants pockets and shrugged sheepishly. "I was doing my routine one day and drew a crowd. When I finished, they asked me to teach them. We do it most days before or after lunch. Depends on the day." He nodded at the rest of the group. "Let's get you something to eat."

Anxious voices called out from the forest, heading toward them. Immediately, Enzo, Barton, Hill and Natasha moved out in front of Bruce to block the way as a man came stumbling into the square speaking so fast he couldn't be understood. Enzo stepped forward to speak to the man, nodding as he told his story.

Tapping Clint on the shoulder, Bruce asked, "I'm not following. What's going on?"

The guard waved Dalva over, and the young woman led the man to the fire, pressing a cup of water into his hands.

Enzo joined Bruce and his friends. "The man and his wife had heard tales of an American doctor who would tend to their needs without requesting payment. They came because the baby was overdue. A short distance from the village, her labor started. When she could not go on, he made her comfortable and came for help."

Going into the clinic, Bruce called out, "Where is she? Does he know how far apart the contractions are?"

Clint came in to help. "He's not sure. He's upset and isn't a good judge of time. Couple of minutes, maybe."

"As long as he can take us to her." Bruce handed Clint a bag with the Red Cross logo on the side while he gathered the herbal treatments he would need. Clint already had the bag open ready to receive the vials, syringes and containers, setting them carefully inside. "Were you able to determine about how far away she is, Clint?"

"Best guess, I'd say less than a mile. They'd been traveling for a couple of days, taking it slow."

Shaking his head, Bruce made a sound of frustration. "Why would _anyone_ risk taking a woman about to give birth on such a long trip? I would've gladly gone to them if I'd known."

Bruce felt the warmth of a hand on his shoulder and looked into Clint's eyes. "I know, doc, but these people are strong-willed and stubborn. They go after what they need. They don't wait for it to come to them." Clint closed up the bag, hitched it onto his shoulder and picked up the second bag without waiting to be told.

The two men exited the clinic, their friends and the villagers gathering around. The father appeared less agitated now that he knew the doctor would be coming to his wife's aid. Bruce gave the man a comforting smile, speaking to the group. "I'll need a couple of hands. Who's with me?"

Bruce's eyes automatically sought out Natasha's. She smiled, and was about to speak when Clint overrode her by taking a step forward, his voice loud enough to carry to everyone present. "Diogo, you and that one, whatever your name is…" he pointed to another of the bodyguards, "…we're the muscle on this op. And we need a way to transport mother and baby, so get us a cart. Fill it with blankets, towels, anything to make them comfortable…"

Natasha silenced Clint's orders with a single word. "Wait!" The archer looked at her as if she were nuts, and she returned it. "_You're _gonna help deliver a baby? You almost passed out when the neighbor's dog had puppies while you were dog-sitting."

From her tone, Bruce knew she considered that to be the last word on the subject, until Clint leaned close enough to whisper, "Doc would rather _you_ kept watch over his very young and very pretty female assistant." At her skeptical look, Clint continued in a coaxing tone, "Gimme a break, Nat. He didn't say anything, but I know he's afraid I'll put the moves on her if he's not there to protect her. This way, he'll know I'm not chatting up the village virgin."

Natasha snorted a laugh at the lame excuse, covering it with a cough. "What about the patients still waiting?"

Bruce stepped into the conversation. "Everyone will be seen, no matter how long it takes. To speed things up, if you and Dalva would get medical histories, that would be helpful."

Natasha crossed her arms and mock glared. "So now I'm your receptionist?"

With the entire village and their friends watching, Bruce snagged Natasha around the waist to pull her tight against him. "If you do a good job, I might even have some after-hours work for you."

Before she could respond, he planted a kiss on her lips that lasted just short of too long, released her and nodded to Clint. "Let's go. We've got a baby to deliver."

**Several Hours Later**

Natasha sat beside Abella cutting up vegetables for the evening meal while Abella prepared the meat. The older woman had been born and raised in this same village though it had moved a few times out of necessity, and was a fountain of knowledge about the region. Natasha had learned more in the hours they'd spent together than she had before coming, knowledge that could only come from personal experience.

They tossed the meat, vegetables and spices into the cooking pot and Abella covered it with the lid. While they waited for the men to return with the mother and baby, Abella took out her _viola de cocho_ and began plucking out a tune.

A short time later, voices were heard, and Natasha easily picked out Bruce's filled with unsuppressed humor. On the other hand, Clint's tone was of the uncomfortable variety. As they entered the square, her partner kept his eyes on the ground. Not like him at all.

The father was walking alongside the cart smiling broadly, and the cry of a newborn announced the birth to all who could hear it. To Natasha's ears, the child sounded healthy and strong. Enzo and Clint opened the back to help mother and child to climb out. Bruce followed behind as the men took her into a shack offered by one of the older women. They emerged a few minutes later leaving the new family to get acquainted.

Getting to her feet, Natasha met the men, and Hill, in front of the clinic. "That didn't take long."

After casting a quick glance at Clint, Bruce told her, "The baby's head was already crowning when we arrived. From there it was just a matter of getting him out and cleaning him up."

"A boy." She tried to catch Clint's eye, but he avoided looking at her. "What happened?"

Seeing that Clint wouldn't respond, Bruce lowered his voice and increased the level of humor. "Everything was going great. Clint held the blanket, wrapped the baby when he came out, and laid him on the mother's chest while I took care of the umbilical cord. But when the afterbirth came out…"

"I didn't _faint_," Clint insisted. "Just got a little lightheaded."

Bruce placed a hand on Clint's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "He dropped like a _stone_, Tash. He was out less than a minute. Asked us not to tell you."

Clint huffed. "I offered to pay him, and he _still_ ratted me out. Who _does_ that?"

"What did you offer?"

"Medical supplies for the clinic he's thinking about starting. But that's not the _point_."

Grinning, Natasha shook her head, taking Bruce's hand. "Good call, _lyubimaya_. He'll make good on his promise. I'll see to it."

The patients still waiting began to show interest in the goings on, bringing everyone's attention back to more serious matters. "Dalva!"

The young woman rushed to Bruce's side, still giving Natasha a suspicious glance though not as bad as before. "Yes, Dr. Bruce."

"I'll wash up then start seeing patients. What I need you to do is clean the baby and mother, and help her change. They'll stay a couple of days then I'll have them escorted home."

Dalva dipped her head and went to get water and towels. She disappeared into the shack where the family had gone, the father coming out a few moments later rubbing the back of his neck. He walked over to the fire and sat down. Abella pressed a cup into his hands. He nodded gratefully and sipped the drink.

Bruce released Natasha's hand as one of the young girls brought him a basin and towels for himself. He held the blanket covering the entrance aside and followed the girl into the clinic. She came out a moment later, going to talk to one of the men from another village.

Natasha and Dalva had taken the medical histories as Bruce had asked, and made a tentative schedule for seeing patients. If each took no more than fifteen minutes, the last patient would be seen two hours after dark. The time Bruce spent caring for others made Natasha very proud of the man she loved. His kindness and compassion showed in everything he did. And the fact that he didn't do it to get her approval made her even more proud.

~~O~~

Night eventually came to the village. The new parents joined them for dinner, the single women oohing and ahing over the baby, especially when told that the boy would be named for the doctor who brought him into the world. Bruce was surprised and honored that someone would name their child after him, and said so.

Natasha sat beside Bruce as he ate dinner, his eyes roaming over the people talking and laughing together. They seemed happy though they had very little, and it made Natasha sad that she had so much and had only been truly happy since she and Bruce had become friends. Happiness that could end tonight.

Bruce held his empty bowl, one hand pushing through his shaggy hair. She didn't much care for the beard though she'd never say so. When he was ready to shave it, he would. Taking that same hand, she smiled when he looked at her. "Ready to talk?"

He set the bowl aside and held her hand in both of his. "You don't have to do this."

"Yes, I do," she insisted, getting to her feet and urging him to come with her. Diogo started to follow, and she sent him away with a word. She led Bruce through the forest to a small clearing that bordered a large stream that ran through the area south of the village. At some point in the distant past, rocks and boulders had been tossed onto the shore creating a place for one to sit and contemplate his or her place in the vastness of the universe or to talk privately.

Bruce watched her with a mixture of curiosity and affection, and somehow, that made what she had to say more difficult. "We all live with pain in one form or another. For me, the pain started many, many years ago. By the time we met, I'd lived with it for so long at that point that I'd accepted it as an inevitable part of me. Even after I knew you loved me, the pain still endured, though lessened somewhat by that knowledge.

"Loki mentioned several very painful events from my past, and it's time you knew the details." Natasha stopped pacing to stand in front of Bruce, gauging his reaction thus far. He didn't say a word, simply waited for her to continue without changing expression. "Before I came to SHIELD, I made a name for myself as someone who would do anything for anyone, for a price. I didn't care who they were or what they wanted done, I used my special skills to complete the contract.

"A man by the name of Anton Belsky aspired to the presidency of Russia. He believed that the only way he could realize those ambitions was to work his way up through Federation Council and Parliament, but to do so he would first have to be elected to office. In his first election, he and his opponent were running nearly even in the polls with his opponent slightly ahead. If the other candidate were to win, it would dash Belsky's hopes for a lucrative political career.

"Belsky's rival had let it be known that he and his wife would be traveling out of the country on their last vacation before the election and the birth of their first child. I was to take the man out and make it seem like an accident. By the time I arrived at his location, the wife had been taken to the hospital with complications from the pregnancy. This infuriated Belsky as he was certain it would garner the other man enough sympathy votes to sway the election in his favor."

Natasha paused to take a sip of water. Though she made a show of avoiding Bruce's gaze, she hoped he would say something, ask a question, encourage her to continue, anything so that she could get a read on his thoughts. But he stayed silent.

"I was hired to eliminate the competition, guaranteeing a win for my employer. However, what I didn't know was that the wife had died, and the baby had been delivered by Cesarean. If I'd known…"

She shook her head and faced him again. "My employer changed his mind. He wanted the death to be personal, for the other man to know who had ordered the hit.

"I set a fire as a distraction, and in the confusion, slipped into his room. He awakened, and when he realized why I was there, begged for his life. He tried to explain, but I wouldn't listen because _I_ knew best, of course.

"The man was known to be on blood thinners for a chronic condition so I stabbed him, partially cutting one of the abdominal arteries. As he bled out, he grabbed my hand and whispered his last words before dying."

Again, Natasha paused, and in that small space, Bruce finally asked a question. "What did he say?"

"He told me that, with him dead, his newborn daughter had no one to care for her. She would become a ward of the state whether there or in our own country. With his last breath, he begged me to look after her, to see that she was brought up by people who cared for her." She took another drink of water, giving Bruce time to work out some of the details for himself. "His name was Vadim Drakov."

Natasha waited for the next question, and Bruce didn't let her down.

"What happened to her?"

"She's with Rayssa and Miguel. Alejandra Henriques is Drakov's daughter."

**TBC**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: **Sequel to _Taking a Chance_. It contains massive spoilers for _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_. If you haven't seen the movie, some of what happens may not make sense.

I received some helpful input from Lady Pandora, and she did the Beta. Any mistakes after that are all mine.

Ladygris has been experiencing some real life issues that are taking all of her time and energy. Prayer would be helpful. If you would like to send her a good-will message, I encourage you to do so. Thank you, on her behalf.

Namaste,

~Sandy

**Avengers**

**A Hole in the World  
Chapter 7**

Bruce clenched his fingers on the edge of the rock just taking in everything Natasha was telling him. When Loki had brought up three very painful events in Natasha's life, he hadn't known they were connected. "Sao Paulo, Drakov's daughter and the hospital fire were all one incident and that little girl is…"

"Drakov's daughter. I killed her father. Now she's _my_ responsibility." Natasha stood in front of him without blinking, waiting, barely seeming to breathe.

Getting to his feet, Bruce paced three steps in one direction, turned and went back the other way while rubbing the back of his neck. He could tell from the inflectionless tone of Natasha's voice that she'd been greatly affected by what happened, and still was to this day. There was a living, breathing reminder only a few hours away. When introduced to Yasmina, Antonio and Alejandra, they were told he was a friend of Natasha's. All three were excited, especially the youngest, who wanted to know when "Tia Natasha" would be coming to see them again.

Natasha was expecting him to give her the keys to the street, that much Bruce had figured out. And if he'd been a different kind of man, one who hadn't been through hell in his own life as well as at her side then he probably would've done just that. But after all the time they'd spent together and what they meant to each other, he couldn't hate her doing what she had to in order to survive.

He turned to face her, rubbing both hands together, a nervous habit he'd never been able to break. Not that he was anxious. Well, maybe a little because this was a turning point, a crossroads in their relationship. She'd just told him something incredibly personal that put her in a very bad light. Yes, what she'd done might be considered unforgivable under normal circumstances. And despite what Loki said about her ledger gushing red, that wasn't true either.

"There's more."

Those two words startled him. What else was there to say?

Her arms were crossed in a defensive posture. "That incident was the straw that broke SHIELD's back, so to speak. Not long after, I received information through one of my sources that a man going by the alias Hawkeye had been assigned to eliminate me. I could've gone into hiding or assumed a new identity, but I didn't. In fact, I set out to make the 'kill' as easy as possible.

"One day, I was sitting in a little café in Florence sipping a glass of my favorite Italian wine when I felt him watching, knowing that, at any moment, it would all be over. I even planned out how it would go.

"A sharp pain would hit me, my body jerking with the impact. I'd look down to see the arrow sticking out of my chest. I might even laugh.

"To bring about a swift end, I'd pull the arrow from the wound, letting all the blood drain out." She took a long, deep breath. "I'd never seen a photograph of Hawkeye, had no idea what he looked like, nor did I know his real name. So when this cocky, sandy haired man with blue-gray eyes and a charming smile that bordered on a smirk sat down at my table, I almost took his head off."

Bruce restrained his amusement as he pictured the incident in his mind.

Barton, dressed all in black and carrying his bow case, pulled out a chair, sat down and rested the ankle of one leg on the knee of the other. _I'll have what she's having_. And then he calmly stated his business. _Clint Barton. SHIELD sent me to kill you, but I'm making a different call. How would you like to work for the good guys for a change?_

Looking down at the top of Natasha's head of dark brown hair as she waited for him to make a decision, Bruce breathed deeply of the humid air filled with a rich earthy scent as well as some dankness mixed with coffee and the flowers of the region. A breeze whispered through the area rustling the leaves and vines, and rippling the surface of the stream. Thankfully, it was too small for the local predator, the Black Caiman, basically an alligator on steroids, to inhabit.

Taking a half step forward, he used two fingers to lift her head up so he could see her face. "I'm glad Barton made that call." She smiled, slow and sweet. "And you're wrong about Alejandra being your responsibility."

She pursed her lips, a tiny sliver of irritation glinting in her eyes. "Bruce…"

He gripped her upper arms, gently massaging until she relaxed and settled her hands on his waist so he could bring her against his chest in a hug, whispering, "She's _our_ responsibility."

~~O~~

Natasha closed her eyes and quietly basked in the love Bruce expressed with just three words: _She's __our__ responsibility_. It meant that he'd committed himself to her, not just for a few months or a year, but forever. And she could do no less in return. "Yes. Ours."

With the sharing of one of the most difficult times of her life, some of the burden that had rested on her shoulders lifted, making her spirit feel lighter. "We have to talk about SHIELD."

Bruce released her, keeping hold of one hand, leading her to the rock he'd been sitting on. "I've been out of the loop for almost two months. Enzo and his men have been in touch with the outside world, but wouldn't tell me anything."

"Orders. Mine. If you knew what was going on, you'd have tried to get home. Everything happened very quickly, in less than seventy-two hours. You wouldn't have made it in time to help.

"Clint, Hill and I have contacted several SHIELD agents who are still loyal to advise them of a meet in order to plan the rebuilding of the intelligence network. Others were tasked with contacting those who were set adrift while out of the country to let them know where the meeting would take place. Any who can do so will be there." Natasha laid her hand on Bruce's thigh and gave it a squeeze, more to comfort herself than him. "Fury faked his death and appointed someone else as director."

"Who?"

She shook her head. "Wouldn't say. We have a virtual toolbox that has everything necessary to restart SHIELD. But there's no way to access it until we reach the meeting location."

"Where?"

"Hungary." When Natasha glanced at Bruce, he was looking at her, and she smiled ruefully. "Budapest."

Bruce chuckled and Natasha placed her hands on his chest to feel the vibrations. "Your idea?"

"Clint and I set up a safe house there a long time ago. Will you be coming with us?" Natasha didn't like the tone when she said that. As if she were pleading, begging him to join her.

He shrugged, adding a sigh on the end. "There's still so much to do here, and I know it won't get done in just a few weeks. We need to get the word out I'm leaving for a while, and an approximate date for my return."

Though he hid it well, Natasha knew he was tired. Time for Bruce, and the Other Guy, to get some rest. "Let's talk about it tomorrow."

Stepping out of his arms, Natasha took his hand to lead him back to the village. She felt grimy from working in the fields. A dip in the river would've been great, but not at night just in case any of the more detestable Amazon creatures were lurking nearby, like the arapaima, a gigantic carnivorous fish that lives with piranhas, also called the payara or vampire fish, and one called the pacu. Of the latter, it's said that they occasionally mistake male genitalia for an easy snack. However, most reports are considered to be apocryphal.

While she was still a member of _Agência Brasileira de Inteligência_, a friend of Rayssa's had been infected with a Candiru Fish, also called the toothpick fish. The nasty little creatures swim up the urogenital tract of bathers and lodge themselves inside. Unfortunately, surgery is the only treatment. In nature, the pencil-shaped fish parasitizes the waste ducts of aquatic animals, and apparently finds human orifices irresistible. It was best if they didn't take chances. A quick wash would have to do.

As they neared the village, Diogo fell into step behind them staying well back yet staying in sight. Music could be heard and soon, Natasha could also hear singing. They stepped into the square to see Clint surrounded by villagers, mostly children, watching him raptly as he sang and played the _viola de cocho_ for them. The song, _Stuck in the Middle with You_, didn't translate well into Portuguese, but his audience loved it. Especially when he ended the song with flair.

A couple of the kids jumped up and spoke to Clint. He nodded and they took seats on either side of him as he vamped while deciding on the next song. It was getting close to bed time because he chose a song called _My World_.

_Leaves are falling in the summer time_

_And the days and nights feel the same_

_I'm looking for the mask to hide behind_

_So then how'd you go and rain on this parade?_

_Well, I guess there's nothing more that I can say_

_So why'd you leave my world_

_When you turned your back and left me far behind_

_Saved me from the frontline_

_And when you walked out, I couldn't let you know_

_That I can let go, can let you go_

Again, the translation wasn't perfect, but the meaning came through loud and clear. Next, he played a Billy Joel song, _Good Night My Angel_. By the end, most of the younger kids were nearly asleep, which was probably Clint's intention. Their parents led them off to bed a few at a time, each one flashing Clint an appreciative smile.

Clint looked their way, giving her and Bruce a wink and a smile. They both waved then Bruce put his arm around Natasha's shoulder as they walked to the clinic. Inside, Natasha kept moving while Bruce covered the entrance and the windows to keep out various insects and nocturnal flying creatures.

They didn't have much privacy. It was virtually assured that at least one other person would be able to hear what was going on in the home directly adjacent to theirs. There were also way too many things to interrupt his concentration. Though she didn't want to, Natasha would wait until they were in an atmosphere more conducive to concentration before they attempted physical intimacy.

Natasha dragged her backpack from the corner where she left it the day before. Even if she couldn't shower or bathe properly, she could at least change clothes. Rustling told her that Bruce was doing the same. She sneaked a glance and found him watching her intently as he unbuttoned his shirt and removed it, slowly, as if doing a strip tease for her. He toed off his shoes then, with calculated actions, he unbuttoned the waist, lowered the zipper, stuck his thumbs in the sides of the pants and pushed them off his hips. He'd lost weight since he'd come here. The material dropped to his ankles and he stepped out of them. Placing them on the chair with the shirt, he sat down to take off his socks. He remained seated, one leg up and left forearm resting on the knee.

Her first night here, Bruce had slept in his clothes, as had she. But now Natasha knew that wasn't his usual MO. Imitating his deliberately suggestive actions, she slowly unbuttoned the front of her shirt and slipped it off her shoulders, tossing it into the chair with his clothes. Her boots, socks and pants followed and soon, she was standing before him in nothing but a tank top and panties. The hem of her top stopped just at her waist, leaving a gap of about four inches between it and the lacy bikinis, the scar from her first encounter with the Winter Soldier an asymmetrical reminder that she too could be killed.

As Natasha stood in the middle of the room, Bruce very deliberately reached under his pillow and brought out the heart monitor. Keeping his eyes locked with hers, he strapped it to his wrist and turned it on. She let a tempting smile came over her features as she crossed her arms, grasped the bottom of her shirt and slowly lifted it up and off, tossing it in the general direction of the rest of her clothes.

~~O~~

Because he sat close to the floor, Bruce had to tilt his head back to keep eye contact as Natasha moved the few steps over to him. She held out her hands, and he lightly gripped both, dropping a lingering kiss on the knuckles of one then the other.

Then, she placed his hands on the widest part of her hips, pinkies touching the upper edge of her panties. Bruce would have to be incredibly dense not to understand. And because it was something they both wanted, he eased his hands under the waistband of her panties and drew them down to her ankles where she stepped out of them.

At Natasha's urging, Bruce lay down. Natasha knelt next to him, doing as he'd just done, curling her fingers over the elastic band of his boxers. He obediently lifted his hips so she could remove them.

Then, keeping her left knee planted on the bed next to him, she eased herself over and let her right knee fall onto the bed beside his left hip so she was straddling him. Giving a flick of her head so that her hair fell down her back, she leaned down to capture his lips with hers. She ended the kiss without making any demands or intrusions. The fingers of her left hand brushed his jaw as her thumb rubbed over his lips. In retaliation for her boldness, Bruce nipped the digit that was tormenting him. Her mouth dropped open, a soft gasp breezing past her lips. She kissed him again, briefly, that same thumb touching the corner of his mouth. "I love you, Bruce. More than anything."

Knowing she told the truth, Bruce kept his gaze fixed on hers as he dragged his palms up her arms to her biceps, continuing up to cup her face. "I love you, too, Natasha."

Their mouths joined once more, and soon they were engaged in a dance as old as time.

**Budapest, Hungary**

Chris's fifth day in Budapest was slightly warm with light humidity. Gray and white puffs scudded across the sky, shifting and changing with the wind, threatening rain by the end of the day.

Dressed to blend in and carrying an umbrella, Chris strolled through the streets of Budapest like a tourist visiting the city for the first time, pretending not to speak the language, and all the while scoping out the location where she would meet with the other SHIELD agents. Her cover was as an art student at the Fine Arts Institute.

She seated herself at a sidewalk café, ordered Traubi, an Austrian soft drink popular in Hungary, and opened the book she carried as part of her disguise, turning the pages at irregular intervals to hide her true purpose. Within the next hour, she picked out three other agents and two maybes. The agents wouldn't be here if Kripke hadn't vetted them before disclosing this location, so she wasn't worried that they were HYDRA waiting to pounce again.

The coded message Chris had gotten from Barton said to expect him any day now, and she wondered how long she should wait. What if he and Romanoff didn't make it? She didn't think that a likely scenario, but it had to be considered. They'd traveled to Brazil where any number of tragic events could've taken place. If one or both of them hadn't arrived by the end of the week, she would approach one of the other agents and go from there.

The next day, Chris was sitting in the same café when a bearded man wearing sunglasses and clothing in dull colors seated himself at the table next to hers. He ordered a Sárkány Sör, sipping it slowly as he stared off into the distance, munching on of the small pastries brought by the server. A few minutes later, he was joined by a man and woman, obviously a couple. The man had shaggy black hair threaded here and there with silver, as was his beard. An air of world weariness hung over him as if he'd seen and done it all and was to the point of just waiting for it all to end. The woman was blonde and young, maybe thirty, her eyes hidden behind enormous sunglasses. She was also very familiar. Romanoff.

Chris had ignored the man, but now she looked closer, kicking herself for not recognizing Barton. But who was the man they were with? Before she could acknowledge him, a woman spoke to her, and Chris looked up into the face of Commander Hill.

"Excuse me. Do you speak English?" Chris nodded and the other woman looked relieved. "All the other tables are taken. Do you mind?" Hill gripped the back of a chair with one hand. In the other, she held a paperback.

"Not at all." Chris smiled blandly, as she would when meeting a stranger. "Lily Novak, art student."

Hill returned the smile. "Jo Austin, logistics management. Recently unemployed."

Chris gave her a sympathetic smile. "Sorry to hear that."

The server set a Keserű Méz in front of Hill, another Traubi in front of Chris, accepted payment for both and left again. Conversation was sporadic. Then, at the appointed time, Chris closed her book and pushed back from the table. "I have to go. It was nice meeting you, Ms. Austin."

"Likewise, Ms. Novak."

Before Chris could stand, a woman approached, staring wide-eyed at Barton's table. "Mr. York?"

The skin around Barton's eyes tightened just a little, the only outward expression of surprise that Chris could see. He picked up his beer and shrugged. "Who?"

"You are Ryland York, are you not?" She spoke excellent English and her voice was soft, almost as if she didn't believe what she was seeing. "You have the…" she touched her chin indicating his beard, "…but still I recognize you. I am Anya. Anya Jakob? I work for Elisabeta Kakos."

Chris didn't recognize either name, but it was apparent that Barton and Romanoff did.

~~O~~

Clint had recognized Anya Jakob long before she reached the café where he sat with Banner, Natasha, Yates and Hill. A few tables away, he'd spotted two more SHIELD agents, and another across the street sitting on a bench in front of a book store reading and sipping coffee, all showing the right amount of disinterest one would show to strangers.

His first instinct was to play it off. He looked nothing like he had when he'd known Anya and her employer, brief though that time had been. However, certain that she was right, Anya would persist, and they couldn't have that much attention on them, especially now.

Clint's alias for that op had been _not_ been Ryland York, but Michael Taggert, an American writer in Budapest to do research for his third novel. Dropping his pen name would get him into places the average man off the street couldn't go. At least that had been the plan. Due to a case of mistaken identity, plan B was hastily concocted. That's where Anya, Ryland York-and Elisabeta Kakos-had come in.

Belatedly, Clint came around the table to greet the young woman, kissing first the right then the left cheek before offering her a seat at the table. "Yes, of course, Ms. Jakob. My apologies for not recognizing you. These are my friends, Ashley Parker and her fiancé, John Malloy."

He ordered her a tall glass of iced tea, a small detail that his brain had dredged up across the years. "It's good to see you again. How is Elisabeta faring these days?"

Anya looked at him then dropped her eyes. "She is not well, Mr. York. The past couple of years, she has been under a doctor's care. Just a few months ago, we were told that she has only a few more months to live."

The news hit Clint right between the eyes, momentarily stunning him. "I'm so sorry. Is she close to her family?"

Behind her glasses, Anya's eyes teared up. She took a drink of her tea then set it aside. "She has no one. Her son and his wife were killed in a car accident last year. They had no children. Both she and her husband had no siblings. I have taken over the care of the garden she loves so much. On good days, I wheel her onto the patio so she can see the tulips, peonies and lilacs blooming. They're her favorites."

To Clint, Anya hadn't changed much. Her hair was still a dull medium brown color worn just below the shoulders in an unflattering ponytail. The clothing style she preferred, skirts that covered her knees, cotton blouses and flat, utilitarian shoes, made her look much older than the early thirties he knew her to be. Lines of fatigue creased the corners of her eyes, which he now saw were a brilliant green.

"Until a few weeks ago, we continued to host her tea parties once a month. However, she no longer wishes for her friends to see her wasting away." In an uncharacteristic show of emotion, Anya grabbed Clint's hand and squeezed. "Would you please come to see her? Just for a few minutes. Elisabeta enjoyed your company very much, Mr. York, and I know she would benefit greatly from a visit."

Clint tried to catch Natasha's eye, but she and Banner had moved to another table while he and Anya had been talking. "Of course. Why don't I come to supper tonight?"

The young woman sat up straight and smiled for the first time, and Clint was amazed at the transformation. "That would be perfect. I'll go now and tell her. At eight tonight, then."

Anya quickly finished her tea and left. Clint watched her walk away and a moment later, he pushed back from the table and got to his feet. He had to move. Walk, run, anything.

"Clint?"

At the curb, he stopped, and without turning, said, "Not a _word_, Nat."

Clint took off down the street, walking fast, not looking where he was going. He just had to keep moving. But no matter where he went, there was no escaping the fact that a piece of his past he'd hope would stay buried had just caught up with him.

**TBC**

**A/N:** The Candiru Fish is not a figment of the author's imagination. It is quite real, and _very_ creepy. All the other nasty creatures are real too.

"Stuck in the Middle with You" is a song written by Gerry Rafferty and Joe Egan and originally performed by their band Stealers Wheel.

"My World", written and performed by Jeremy Renner.

"Lullaby (Goodnight, My Angel)" was written and performed by Billy Joel for his 1993 album _River of Dreams._


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: **Sequel to _Taking a Chance_. It contains massive spoilers for _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_. If you haven't seen the movie, some of what happens may not make sense.

Lady Pandora did the Beta. Any mistakes after that are all mine, which is SOP.

Ladygris has been experiencing some real life issues that are taking all of her time and energy. Prayer would be helpful. If you would like to send her a good-will message, I encourage you to do so. Thank you, on her behalf.

Namaste,

~Sandy

**Avengers**

**A Hole in the World  
Chapter 8**

By his estimate, Clint had gone almost a half mile before calming down enough to think through his meeting with Anya.

The safe house had been created and stocked long before the mission to Budapest that gave Clint and Natasha very different memories. No doubt she'd been talking about fighting their way out when outnumbered by mercenaries. Such an event was SOP on most of their ops, and Clint barely gave it a second thought.

For him, the memory that stood out above the rest was Elisabeta Kakos. Meeting her hadn't been a part of the plan at all. A case of mistaken identity had put the vivacious older woman in the midst of an operation to stop their mark from selling illegal arms and ammunition stolen from a classified military base. The meeting with the mark had been scheduled to take place at a celebration being hosted by one of the interested parties, and Clint had to find a way to get himself invited. That's where Elisabeta had come in.

He put the memories aside when he realized that his subconscious had led him where he needed to be. Checking his look in the reflection of the glass, Clint rubbed a hand through his beard. When he first met Elisabeta, he had a goatee, and while she didn't say anything, he got the sense that she preferred clean-shaven men. So, standing in front of the mens clothing store, he made plans. Buy a suit and all the accessories, and while the alterations are being made, go to the barber shop for a haircut and shave.

He stepped inside the shop and was immediately set upon by an overdressed salesman who looked him over, wrinkling his nose as if he smelled something offensive. Clint had showered that morning so he knew it wasn't that.

"May I help you?"

In Hungarian, Clint said, "My luggage was lost by the airline. I have an important meeting to get to and need a suit, tie, shirt, shoes, socks. Everything."

Again, the man looked him over, and just as he was about to ask Clint to leave, the archer held up a wad of Euros that would choke a rhino. The man's eyes widened. "Of course, sir."

"I'll need it delivered to my hotel no later than seven."

"But, sir, the alterations alone will take…" Clint held up the cash again, and the man sighed, obviously torn, though only for a moment. "_Seven_, you said?"

**Later That Evening**

Standing in front of Elisabeta's building, Clint gazed up at the stylish façade, recalling the first time he'd seen it. She had sent a long, black limousine to pick him up at his hotel and bring him to her home.

Not much had changed since that day. Not here, anyway. Inside, Clint had changed quite a bit, especially since the invasion. He no longer took anything for granted except that his mind was filled with demons from the past. Now it was time to put one of those demons to rest.

Putting on a bored smile, Clint stepped into the lobby and gave his name to the concierge. After checking the list, Clint was permitted to enter. He walked to the end of the hall, made a left and stood for a moment in front of the subtly elegant door. He brushed a hand through his hair, now cut military short, and straightened his already perfectly aligned black and dark red tie. At exactly eight, he rang the bell.

The click of heels on hardwood floors approached and stopped. Anya opened the door and smiled brightly. "Thank you for coming, Mr. York." She stood back so he could enter, softly closing the door behind him and clasping her hands together in front. Her eyes took in the small bouquet of flowers he held in one hand, giving him a nod of approval for his good manners. She smiled brightly when he pulled three flowers free and handed them to her. For you, Anya, because…"

"Every woman should be given flowers for no other reason than because she's a woman." They both smiled in remembrance. "Elisabeta was _very_ excited to hear you were back in town."

Having already made a visual recon of the foyer to ascertain that they were alone, Clint lowered his voice, "Are you sure she's up to having company? I can come back tomorrow."

"She's fine, and would like for you to join her in the library for a glass of wine before supper."

Clint knew the way, but allowed Anya to guide him. Before entering, he adjusted his cuffs, resisting the urge to do another hair check as Anya quietly walked away. When she was gone, he knocked and entered without waiting for a response. To do otherwise would not be his alias's MO. Not Clint's either, but that wasn't important. Elisabeta was the only thing that mattered, and for her, he would be Ryland York.

**The Next Morning**

In order to keep a low profile, Yates, Clint, Natasha and Bruce had taken rooms at a small out-of-the-way hotel. Hill had stayed one more night then returned to her cover position at Stark Industries, or so she said. To Natasha, it didn't quite ring true. The part about getting back to the States was accurate, that much she knew. However, it was her reason for leaving that Natasha didn't quite believe. Something more was going on. There just wasn't anything Natasha could do about it now. When they were all together again, she would corner her friend and demand an explanation.

Bruce groaned in his sleep, the hand on her stomach moving to her hip. With gentle encouragement, the hand was removed allowing her to slip out of bed and tiptoe into the bathroom. She came out dressed for the day and wanting coffee, however the rooms had only basic amenities that didn't include a coffee maker.

Getting her caffeine jolt from a restaurant would have to do until they moved into the safe house where they'd stay while planning how to bring back SHIELD using the information given to them by Fury. The building could hold up to twenty people in a pinch, if they didn't mind stepping on each other's toes once in a while. Because they'd never envisioned the end of SHIELD, Natasha and Clint hadn't made provisions for more. The rest would have to find accommodations elsewhere. And Natasha would be the one to make the decision about who bunked at the Bunker-she snorted at the pun-and who didn't.

As she stood there debating if she should wake Bruce, she heard soft footsteps in the hall. Going to the door, she listened for a moment then eased it open a crack. Clint had a keycard in one hand and his vest in the other. His shirt was wrinkled and untucked, the top two buttons open to show a small amount of curly chest hair. He ran a hand through already messy hair making it stand up even more. She was about to call out a snarky remark to tease him about spending the night with Elisabeta again, but changed her mind at the look on his face. It was not the look of a man who had spent a passionate night with a woman.

Clint's door clicked closed and Natasha decided to wait a bit before knocking so he wouldn't know she'd seen him coming in. She went to get her wallet, and had just shut the door to the room she shared with Bruce when she heard the crash of something breaking against the wall of Clint's room. Her partner seldom allowed his emotions to rule his actions. Only something deeply emotional would've caused such an intense reaction. She knew he wouldn't want to talk about it, and respected his decision, unless it started to interfere with other priorities. Right now, their main concern was getting SHIELD and the intelligence network up and running again before America's enemies took advantage. Anything else came in second place or lower. Except family. For Natasha, SHIELD _was_ her family, and she would do whatever she had to in order to protect them.

As a group, the SHIELD agents had no firm plans for the day beyond waiting for more to arrive. Before Hill left, they'd made the decision to wait one more day before beginning the move to the safe house. Well, it wasn't exactly a house though it was safe.

Once they had everyone moved in, they'd see what supplies were needed and hand out assignments from there. The armory was fully stocked, that much Natasha knew. However, if more than twenty-five agents showed up, there wouldn't be enough weapons to go around. Considering the nature of their profession, Natasha wouldn't be surprised if the others had made similar provisions in case of an emergency, though none of them could have foreseen the re-emergence of HYDRA or that it would bring about the fall of SHIELD.

Several of the agents who made it to Budapest had brought sketchy intel on the crews of the Insight helicarriers. While the first two had been taken down relatively easily, the third had crashed into the Potomac killing most of the crew. How many had been HYDRA, there was no way to know at this point. Nor could they even begin to hazard a guess as to how many loyal agents had died due to being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Natasha let her subconscious work on the problem while the rest of her ordered coffee to go. Yates was already in the diner, drinking tea and reading from a tablet. Peeking over her shoulder, Natasha saw that she was performing the job she'd been assigned: scanning the news for information on their mutual headache. Her frustrated snort as she scrolled indicated that she hadn't found much. A quick glance around, and Natasha had picked out at least five other agents, all busily engaged in one pursuit or another. A man and a woman, were sitting with their heads together, smiling and laughing. They looked like a couple though Natasha knew for a fact that the man was married to another SHIELD agent, and the woman was engaged to someone outside the business. The pair had been partners for years, making their intimate conversation look real.

Another, a man dressed casually and sitting at the counter, sipped coffee while reading the newspaper, and the last two, a man and a woman, both in booths and wearing business clothing, used their phones as they ate. None of them gave Natasha more than a cursory glance.

She accepted three steaming cups of coffee and returned to the hotel. Stopping first at Clint's door, she paused to listen. Movement indicated that he wasn't asleep or in the shower. Rapping gently, she took a step back when the door was flung open to show her partner wearing nothing but a towel, his hair and upper body still damp. "_What?_"

Without a word, Natasha handed him one of the cups, giving him a sympathetic smile that told him all he needed to know, that she was available if he wanted to talk. "John and I will be going to breakfast soon, if you'd like to join us."

For a moment, she thought he would refuse. That he'd spend the day brooding just like he'd done on the trip back to SHIELD all those years ago. Then, he took the cup. "I'll meet you there. The diner?"

"Actually, I was thinking of that little café just off the river. Thirty minutes?" The restaurant she mentioned was the halfway point between the hotel and the safe house.

Clint sipped the coffee, closing the door after giving her a short nod. She turned to see Bruce watching her from their door. He waited for her to enter, closed the door, and accepted a kiss and the coffee, in that order. "He okay?"

"No." Bruce sat on the end of the bed to put his shoes on while Natasha watched. She had witnessed his transformation on three separate occasions and still marveled that the Hulk lived inside this kind and loving man. Maybe it wasn't so amazing. Everyone had inner strength just waiting to be unleashed. "He should be dressed by now. Let's go to breakfast. We're meeting Yates and Clint at the restaurant."

Bruce shoved his arms into a light jacket and zipped the front up halfway. "SHIELD gives all their secret bases names. What's this one called?"

Rolling her eyes, Natasha opened the door and Bruce closed it behind them. "The Bunker."

"Really? Couldn't come up with anything more original?"

"It's not like we didn't _try_. Clint wanted to call it The Batcave." Bruce wrapped an arm around her shoulders, dropping a kiss on her temple. "What's that for?"

He snorted a laugh. "Not letting him call it that _or_ the Fortress of Solitude."

Natasha joined him in the amusement. "He tried that one too, but I put my foot down."

They walked out to the front of the hotel and requested a cab. Soon, the couple had reached the café overlooking the Danube and was being shown to a table. Clint arrived a few minutes later followed by Yates and several other agents, all taking seats near enough to hear and speak to each other, making it seem like an accident. When breakfast and conversation were over, the agents left the restaurant one or two at a time.

~~O~~

To keep from arousing suspicion, Clint was the first to check out of the hotel. He would then go to the safe house, open everything up and make it ready to receive guests. He and Nat had agreed to call it The Bunker. Not original, but she'd nixed all of his ideas. What was wrong with calling it the Batcave or the Fortress of Solitude? Okay, so that last one was a misnomer because it was unlikely anyone would ever be there alone.

Clint took a cab to a business several miles from his destination then cut through the wooded area surrounding what was to be their haven. His last couple of trips through Europe, he'd stopped to do upgrades to the computer systems and basic maintenance just to make sure everything would be ready if needed. And now that day was here.

The brick and concrete building looked abandoned, the exterior showing the ravages of time and the elements. However, as Natasha was fond of saying, looks could be deceiving. Going around to the back, Clint jumped a rusty ten-foot metal fence and went to the loading dock door. Attaching a small electronic device to the lock, he tapped in a code and a moment later, a panel opened to his right. He swiped his hand over the smooth metal plate. It scanned his fingerprints and DNA, comparing both to the database. There was a click, and a hidden door opened. He stepped inside, and the door closed.

Flicking on a flashlight to illuminate the dark hallways, Clint made his way down a long corridor. There were metal doors on both sides and bare pipes and light fixtures in the ceiling. Turning to the left, he again used the lock device to open another door. Inside, he shone the light around seeing nothing but dust, cobwebs and an entire wall of breaker boxes, each one labeled. One at a time, he flipped the handles into the on position. The last one turned on the lights in the breaker room showing Clint that the dust wasn't nearly as bad as it seemed at first.

Following the hallway, he went around the corner to the main environmental controls, switching that on as well. A cool breeze whispered over his skin as the mustiness was slowly replaced by fresh air.

He left by a different door, taking the stairs two at a time up to the next level and down the hall. He turned right at the junction and kept going until coming to the front of the facility where the cafeteria, front offices, lobby and employee locker rooms were located. Over a period of more than a year, Clint and Natasha had stocked the Bunker with everything they might need to stay off the grid for up to two months. With more people, other arrangements would have to be made. There were a few beds, but mostly just blankets, sheets and pillows. If anyone needed more than that, it would have to be brought in later, though Clint doubted anyone would make a fuss.

Taking out one of a hoard of burner phones, Clint used it to send the all-clear to Natasha and Banner. These days, they were nearly inseparable. For some reason, that led him to think of Elisabeta and the talk they'd had the night before.

The news about Elisabeta's health had been a blow. He'd developed a genuine affection for the older woman after only a few days' acquaintance. She was all the things that Natasha was without the element of danger. In Elisabeta's presence, Clint felt that he could be himself, even if she thought he made his living as a gigolo. She had made it clear from the beginning that he was there just so she wouldn't have to go to the party alone. He was arm candy and a handsome companion that would entertain her friends. Nothing more.

This particular gala was the event of the season. Like the Cattleman's Ball in Texas, everyone who was anyone made an appearance. And with her husband gone for only a few months, Elisabeta hadn't had the desire to cultivate a relationship with a man to the point that they attended society functions together.

Clint smiled, remembering the first time he laid eyes on Elisabeta. She was sitting at a table on the patio of the same café where Anya had approached him. Elisabeta had mistaken him for the real Ryland York, an American living in Budapest who made a marginal living as an escort for rich older women. Because she needed an escort for the very event Clint had to get into, he'd agreed to go with her. Elisabeta had been vivacious, spirited and effervescent. She had been trying to move on from the death of her husband and make a new life for herself without him, but it wasn't easy, and Clint understood. Eventually, he'd coaxed her out of the funk she'd been in, and the night had gone much smoother from there.

Then, once the mission had been completed and his report had been filed, Clint had stayed in Budapest a few extra days just to spend time with Elisabeta. That last night, he'd offered himself to her, and she'd accepted. Afterward, he waited until she'd gone to sleep, pulled the covers up around her neck, kissed her forehead and left through the library door. By the time she got up, he was in a plane over the Atlantic Ocean, and that had been the last time he'd seen her until last night.

Pushing those thoughts away, Clint got down to the business of making the Bunker ready for occupancy. There were only a few rooms that could be used for sleeping, and Clint set about moving things around so that Natasha and Banner had an actual bed in a room that had a door they could close for privacy.

Glancing at the time, he decided a walk-through was needed just in case something had gone wrong since the last time Natasha had been here. When the others showed up, he'd assign someone to inventory the food just for something to do. Most of the food supply consisted of MREs and protein bars that had a long shelf life. Anything that had expired would be checked, i.e. Clint would eat one to make sure it was still edible, before returning it to the cafeteria just in case they needed it.

Next, his mind turned to clothing. There was no way to know how long they'd be holed up here, though one of the advantages to using an abandoned power plant was that it was so far out of the city that the nearest neighbor was more than a mile away. No one would be around to see them coming and going. They would need something to wear. A trip to the thrift store was in order, if Budapest had anything like that.

Moving on to the control room, Clint pulled the dust covers off the equipment and tossed them in a corner out of the way. The stairs from the lower level came up in the middle of the room for some reason he hadn't been able to figure out. Banks of consoles in a light green color circled the perimeter of the oval shaped room. The size of the room was just over eighteen meters or sixty feet in length by six meters or twenty feet wide. Off to one side was a small shack-like thing that neither Clint nor Natasha had been able to open leaving its purpose and contents a mystery. An old desk sat in the middle of the room near the railing that surrounded the opening for the stairs. To the left and right, corridors branched off, the one to the left toward a part of the plant that had been locked with heavy metal doors. Again, they hadn't been able to find a way to breech them.

Walking around the room, he hit a button on each console, waiting until the panel flipped and the sixties-era controls were replaced by state-of-the-art computers. That done, Clint moved to the outer part of the plant and sent a message to Natasha to let her know that Operation Exodus was a go.

~~O~~

The small hotel where the agents had taken refuge wasn't anywhere near being a four- or five-star facility. Defense consisted of a lone security guard who spent most of his shift sitting behind the front desk in the lobby watching television or dozing. Once an hour, he would take a quick turn around the perimeter and return. At exactly twelve noon, he would take his lunch from the mini 'fridge in the back and eat while reading the paper.

At the moment, Lorinc's backside was firmly planted on the tall chair he used in lieu of the barstool he'd originally been given, his eyes glued to the television as he watched the World Cup Finals. He didn't cheer for any particular team. Just watched the screen, drank coffee and made the occasional trip to the bathroom.

"_Jó reggelt_," the courier said as he stepped up to the desk. The clerk had gone into the back asking Lorinc to keep an eye on things, but not to sign for anything. "I have a package for the manager, Mr. Varga."

"I'll go get Kata." The guard reluctantly slid off his seat.

"My apologies. I can only accept a signature from the person for whom the package is intended."

Nodding, Lorinc went into the back. As soon as the door closed behind him, the courier turned the computer terminal around, inserted a USB drive and tapped a few commands. Within a few seconds, the hotel's entire database had been downloaded. He turned the computer back and shoved the drive into his pocket just as Kata and the manager appeared. The man signed for the package and soon the courier was back in his truck. As he pulled up to the light, he tapped the Bluetooth in his right ear. "I have the information and will deliver it to your location in one hour. Hail HYDRA."

~~O~~

The next day, Barton met Natasha and Bruce at the main entrance off the loading dock instead of the plant's front door. That would be too conspicuous. The others would be coming in a couple at a time and Clint asked Natasha to take care of it while he gave Bruce a quick tour.

Bruce got that Barton wanted to talk to him privately, and so did Natasha or she'd never have agreed. He followed the agent through the echoing corridors of the plant, listening as he pointed out items of only passing interest like a tour guide.

As they climbed a set of utilitarian stairs, Bruce looked up and saw the most astonishing sight.

When they reached the main control room, all Bruce could do was stare with his mouth open as he turned in a circle. The ceiling was made of translucent white panes of glass. At least he assumed it was glass. There was no way to tell without closer inspection. The panes were set in a design that made them look like the stained glass roof of a cathedral, except that they were all the same pearlescent white, each showing minute variations.

The sunlight filtered through giving the room a diffused light and filling him with a sense of peace. The green of the walls helped with the feeling of being inside a blossoming flower. "Wow."

Barton smiled. "Yeah. I know."

A gentle hand squeezed Bruce's shoulder, urging him down the right corridor branching off the control room, their footsteps echoing here as well. Barton came to a stop in front of a door labeled in Hungarian. Bruce recognized the word for section, but not the rest. Without fanfare, the door was opened to show the small room had been set up with a twin bed, a file cabinet as the bedside table, a desk lamp and a larger file cabinet taking on the work of the dresser. A mirror that had obviously been taken from one of the bathrooms was propped against the wall on top. "What's this?"

"We can't access most of the plant so some of us will have to share sleeping quarters. This is the best I could do to give you and Nat some privacy." Barton looked like he had more to say, and Bruce gave him the time he needed to work up to it. "Look, I know you and Nat…she's…" Barton made a sound of frustration that Bruce understood completely as someone who didn't deal well with his emotions. "What I'm tryin' to say is I see how happy you've made her and I want to thank you for that."

"It's a two-way street, Clint. We make each other happy." Shoving his hands into his pockets, Barton leaned against the wall and stared at the floor for what seemed a long time. He was building up to something. Bruce just had to give him time.

Barton crossed his ankles and brought one hand out to rub the back of his neck. "Can I talk to you about something, doc? Man to man."

Nodding, Bruce crossed his arms. "Sure."

"It's not…I can't talk to Nat about it and the staff shrinks are off limits for now."

"I'm not a psychologist, Clint. Don't know how much help I can be."

Again he rubbed the back of his head. "Just need to say this out loud. To get it out of my head, I guess. I've been thinking a lot about Adele lately, about the things that were left unsaid. Is that weird?"

Still not certain he could help, Bruce shrugged. "Who's to say what is and isn't weird? Not _me_. But if your relationship with Adele is bothering you then I'd be happy to share my thoughts." Barton gestured for Bruce to continue. "Personally, I don't think it's weird at all. No matter what relationship the two of you had, the abrupt ending virtually assured that you'd go through the stages of mourning. I'd say you were in stage three: bargaining or the 'if only' stage, and headed for stage four."

"If only what? If only I hadn't canceled our date she wouldn't have been on duty at the time of the accident? It wasn't like I had a choice. It was a mission, and she understood."

"I'm sure she did. But some part of you believes that if you hadn't gone on that mission, the two of you would've been at the movies or having dinner when the accident occurred and she wouldn't have died. Don't blame yourself. If she hadn't died, someone else would've been killed in her place. Just remember, everything we do has consequences whether we know it or not. If I had been three feet farther away, the boy whose life I saved might be dead, or _he_ could be the one who was turned into the Other Guy."

Barton thought over what Bruce had said, his thumb and forefinger pulling at his lower lip. "So what happens after bargaining? I'd like to know what I'm in for."

"The five stages are denial and isolation, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. You'll still think of her for a while, but it won't be as painful as it is right now. Then one day, years from now, you'll realize you hadn't thought of Adele in months. You'll miss her, but it will be more nostalgia than sadness."

Barton pushed off the wall to pace back and forth. He came to a stop facing Bruce. With a nod, he said, "Thanks, doc."

Bruce smiled sadly on the agent's behalf. "No problem. Let's get back to the tour."

With cheerfulness that Bruce knew to be false, Clint handed him a map, using the hard copy to indicate points of interest, like the cafeteria and the showers.

**A Few Days Later**

All of the SHIELD agents who'd made it to Budapest were now within the walls of the Bunker. And Natasha had admitted only to herself, and to Bruce, that they could've given it a better name. _Too late now_, she thought. Once we leave, this bridge will be burned.

Natasha was on duty in the control room monitoring for messages from other agents around the world. So far, there had only been a few who'd tried to make contact on the emergency frequency. Each member of the team was taking turns, and now it was hers. She glanced at the clock to verify the time and found that someone would be relieving her soon. Hard on the heels of that thought came a beep from the console to her right. In addition to the emergency channel, there was another that only the most senior agents had knowledge of, meaning her, Clint and Hill.

She hooked the Bluetooth over her left ear and tapped it. "Romanoff."

"_It's Hill. I've got some intel, but you're not going to like it. Neither will Barton._"

Natasha closed and locked the door that led to the residential area then returned to her seat. "Let's hear it."

"_One of our people took it upon himself to pose as a HYDRA agent when the **** hit the fan. He sent us a list of their people just before he hit the bricks. And not just those with SHIELD. Every HYDRA agent on the planet. I've spent the last twenty-four hours going over it with the new director._"

The knowledge that her friend knew the identity of the new director piqued Natasha's interest more than the intel stolen from HYDRA. "The new director? Who is it? Fury wouldn't say."

Hill sighed in that world-weary way she had. "_You know I can't tell you that. However, I have information that will be of particular interest to Barton._"

Though Hill's voice was inflectionless, Natasha's senses went on alert. "What info?"

There was a short pause then, "_Adele Wolfe was HYDRA._"

**TBC**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: **Sequel to _Taking a Chance_. It contains massive spoilers for _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_. If you haven't seen the movie, some of what happens may not make sense.

Lady Pandora did the Beta. Any mistakes after that are all mine, which is SOP.

Ladygris has been experiencing some real life issues that are taking all of her time and energy. Prayer would be helpful. If you would like to send her a good-will message, I encourage you to do so. Thank you, on her behalf.

Namaste,

~Sandy

**Avengers**

**A Hole in the World  
Chapter 9**

When Chris arrived in the control room to relieve Romanoff, she could tell something was wrong, and for a few seconds, it seemed as if the Russian would confide in her then changed her mind. _She'll just have to change it back._ "Something wrong, ma'am?"

At the door, Romanoff turned and came to sit next to Chris. "Natasha, please. You should know this because you're Clint's new partner, and he won't be in a sharing mood."

Chris's forehead creased with confusion. _I'm not Barton's partner._ "What's going on?"

Romanoff nodded at the comm console. "Just received intel from Hill. One of ours got his hands on a list of HYDRA agents within SHIELD."

"I have a bad feeling about this." Chris received an understanding nod from the other woman.

"Wolfe was on the list."

"****." The women commiserated in silence for a brief moment then Romanoff got to her feet. Chris knew the answer to her next question, and still asked, "Would you like me to tell him?"

Romanoff stopped with her hand on the door. "Thanks, but…"

Chris huffed at her, no longer in awe of Romanoff's legend status. Not because she'd idolized her and found her lacking, but because she'd gotten to know the Russian since this whole HYDRA **** started. "Isn't it the _partner's_ job to give bad news?"

With a small smile, Romanoff conceded the point. "Then this will be my final act as his _former_ partner. Everything from here on out will be _your_ responsibility."

Romanoff was gone before Chris could formulate a response that would change her mind because Chris would rather have Barton angry with _her_ than Romanoff.

The door closed with a soft click, and Chris reflected on the fact that Romanoff had more restraint than anyone she knew. If it had been herself, she'd have slammed the door just on general principle.

A couple of hours later, Chris was relieved at her post and her first thought was to check on Barton. Just walk by to make sure he was sleeping. But when she got there, his room, or rather the cubicle where he slept was empty. The bedroll hadn't been disturbed. Huffing, Chris rubbed the back of her head trying to decide where he would be right now. "Where the hell _are_ you, Barton?"

"He'll be on the roof, Agent Yates."

Even knowing that the enemy couldn't get inside the bunker, Chris still tensed as she spun around, ready to do battle. Dr. Banner stood there, hands in his pockets, and a wry grin on his bearded face, as if he knew what she was thinking. He probably _did_. She'd never been alone with Banner, and found that she wasn't afraid of him like she thought. "The roof?"

Apparently satisfied that she wasn't going to attack, Banner came closer, both hands coming out of his pockets. "It's where he goes to think. On the helicarrier, it's the conning tower. Has something to do with growing up in the circus."

Holding onto her neutral expression with every ounce of will power, Chris showed no reaction to a tidbit of Barton's past that had been redacted from his file. All she'd been able to view was his record beginning the day he was recruited into SHIELD shortly before his nineteenth birthday, by Phil Coulson. "Which way?"

Banner pointed at the far end of the hall where most of them slept. It was shrouded in darkness, the hall seeming to just end as if you'd fall into an abyss when you crossed the threshold. He held out a flashlight. "End of the hall. He probably climbed up the outside of the building just because he can."

"Thanks, Dr. Banner."

"Please call me Bruce, Agent Yates."

Chris snorted. "Barton calls me probie to poke fun, but you can call me Chris."

Banner inclined his head once in acknowledgement. "Good night, Chris."

She waited until Banner turned the corner then made her way to the cafeteria. There, she grabbed two bottles of the local brew that someone had been thoughtful enough to include on their grocery list, shoving them into the pockets of her light jacket.

Treading as softly as she could, Chris climbed the stairs until she came to a door advising her that it provided roof access, but only to authorized personnel. A chunk of concrete blocked the door from closing. She slowly swung the door open and stepped out onto the roof, shutting off the flashlight to let her eyes adjust to the dark. There were no clouds to block the stars, and the moon hadn't made its appearance yet. Far away, she could see the lights of the city.

Off to the right, Barton was silhouetted against the sky. She walked across the space between them, stopping far enough away that he wouldn't feel threatened. He looked over his shoulder then back to the vista laid out before them. Her voice barely above a whisper, Chris said, "Let us be silent, that we may hear the whispers of the gods."

Without invitation, Chris sat next to Barton, legs out in front. Taking out the beers, she twisted the top off the first one and handed it to him. He waited until she'd opened hers to take a sip. Other than that, he didn't acknowledge that he knew she was there. Then, about forty minutes later by her internal clock, he said, "Ralph Waldo Emerson."

As the quote indicated, there was a time for speaking and a time for quiet. Now was the time to be quiet so Chris made no response, just provided a comforting presence. If Barton wanted to talk, she would listen. If not, that was good too. As long as he knew she had his six no matter what.

~~O~~

Thanks to his new and improved hearing, Clint heard the creak of footsteps on the stairs long before Yates sat beside him. He accepted the beer without a word, not taking his first sip until she'd opened her own. Did she expect them to talk about Adele? Apparently not because she only spoke the one time. And after a while, he began to feel something. He wasn't sure what at first. It reminded him of all the times he and Natasha had been on stake-outs together. Not a word for hours and hours then a flurry of activity; taking out the mark, defending themselves against multiple enemies, or even packing it in for the night. It was something he hadn't had with any other person aside from Coulson until now.

Adele had always seen Clint's quiet times as brooding, and he was the first to admit that sometimes that's exactly what it was. On those nights, she would keep up a constant stream of chatter designed to bring him out of himself. He admired her stubbornness though it would've been better if she knew without him having to explain himself.

Yates understood him in a way that none of his previous probies had, which was why he'd requested to have them removed. And he'd be lying to himself if he said the only reason he let her stay was because he was attracted to her. That was just the first thing he noticed. Their indefinable connection, the ability to read each other's moods, was why he kept her around.

The moon eventually peeked over the horizon, and Clint decided he'd wallowed long enough. Finding out that Adele had been HYDRA was like a gentle slap rather than the right cross he'd expected. That alone told him what he felt for her wasn't love or anything like it. He'd cared about her, but not in a way that meant they'd have been together forever.

Getting to his feet, Clint reached down to pull Yates up beside him. Without a word, he followed her down the stairs and along the dark hallway. At her cubicle, he gave her a nod and a smile. "Thanks, Chris."

Her eyes widened telling him he'd surprised her. "That's the first time you've called me anything but Probie or Yates."

"Don't get used to it." Hands on her shoulders, he turned her around. "Hit the sack, _Probie_."

She let him get a few steps away before responding. "'Night, Hawkeye."

Shaking his head and grinning, Clint went into his cubicle for his toothbrush then down the hall to the bathroom. His shift at the comm started in a few minutes and he didn't like being late.

**The Next Day**

Ryan Kripke stood over the tabletop computer staring at the monitor on the wall where lines of code scrolled across the screen, arms crossed and tapping his lips with a forefinger. He'd pretty much been in that exact spot for hours, barely moving except to enter information into the computer.

Waving his hand halted the flow across the monitor. He peered closer at a highlighted line of code, shook his head and continued scrolling and staring.

"Kripke!" The computer tech jumped at the sharpness of Romanoff's voice because he'd forgotten he wasn't alone. "What does it _say?_"

"The only information I've been able to extract is a set of coordinates that seem to belong to a public recreation area." Romanoff and Barton came to stand on either side of Kripke making him just a little nervous. "Everything else is behind a firewall that I haven't been able to breech."

The two agents made eerily similar sighs of frustration, Barton leaning on the edge of the console. The "toolbox" was near his right hand, but he didn't pick it up. "Why would Fury provide us with the location of a _park_ when it's supposed to be the tools to restart SHIELD?"

Shrugging, Kripke removed the toolbox thereby shutting down the system. "Wish I knew, Agent Barton. We have the coordinates and two words: The Playground. I've been trying for two _days_ to break through the firewall and…Agent Barton? Are you okay, sir?"

Kripke turned to the right when Barton moved up next to him and he was smiling. On his left stood a smiling Romanoff. The Black Widow had two kinds of smiles. One that left you feeling you'd pleased her in some way, and the other that promised dire consequences for anyone who crossed her. The one she displayed now seemed to be a combination of both making him unsure what to say.

"Clint."

"I see it."

Romanoff peered around Kripke, nodding once, and he got the feeling that they'd forgotten he was there. "What…"

As one, Romanoff and Barton headed for the exit. Over his shoulder, Barton said, "Gather the troops, Kripke. We're headin' home."

"Yes…" the door slammed behind the agents, "…sir." Tapping into the facility's PA, Kripke called everyone to the cafeteria then went there himself.

~~O~~

The gloomy atmosphere lifted at the news that they'd be returning to the US very soon. People were actually smiling and laughing.

Lying on the bed in their room that night, Natasha ran a finger down Bruce's chest. He grabbed hold to stop her before she started something he was too tired to finish. In retrospect, he should've worn a shirt as a barrier. Too late now. "Tell me about the Playground."

Natasha sighed and he felt her warm breath against his neck as she adjusted her position slightly. "SHIELD has a number of secret bases all over the world. Some are known to all agents. Others are known to agents level eight and above, and only those with unlimited access are given details of the rest on a need-to-know basis. If Fury's sending us to this particular one, it's for a reason. My guess is the new director is there and he or she was given the necessary tools to rebuild. Even if Kripke had broken through the firewall, there's probably nothing behind it."

"Any ideas as to who this superman, or superwoman, is?"

She chuckled, and Bruce felt the vibrations where they touched. "If you're thinking Steve, he took control for a while, but he'd rather bust the bad guys than direct traffic. Same with me and Clint."

It was on the tip of Bruce's tongue to reveal a secret he'd been keeping from Natasha for over two years. However, it wasn't within his discretion to tell her, and so he kept silent. She, and the others, especially Barton, wouldn't be happy that Bruce and Hill had been privy to one of SHIELD's best kept secrets, but Bruce would deal with the fallout when the time came. Tonight, he just wanted to sleep and dream about home.

Home. In the last decade, home had been wherever he was at the moment. A tenement in Calcutta, a cabin in Canada where he first learned to transform at-will, Stark's lab, his apartment in New York or DC. But they had just been places to rest his head, to be alone, away from everyone else.

Being close to Natasha and knowing that she loved him made wherever they were together feel like home. It reminded him that this feeling wasn't always about _where_ you were, but _who_ you were with. And he'd been more comfortable in his surroundings and inside his own skin with Natasha than at almost any other time in his life. Wherever they ended up, as long as they-and Theo-were together, they were home.

At the meeting, they'd all wanted to head back to the States then and there. Natasha being the voice of reason had reminded them that they had to have a plan in place first, starting with who would leave when because they couldn't all leave at once.

Clint suggested that Bruce and Natasha travel separately because HYDRA could've been told about their relationship and would be on the lookout for a couple matching their descriptions. Though, if he kept the beard and didn't cut his hair until they reached the Playground, not many would recognize him. And Natasha could easily change her appearance.

Still, Barton did have a point, and Bruce had no ammunition with which to refute the argument. Natasha was the expert at blending in, going unnoticed. All he could do is avoid the police and hide from the cameras as much as possible.

Natasha's breathing settled into sleep and Bruce soon followed. His dreams that night verged on horrifying though that was happening less and less. He was in the midst of an especially disturbing sequence that he'd been through before when loud voices in the hall awakened him. Natasha was gone and the door was jar.

He pulled a T-shirt on as he went out into the hall. Several of the others had done the same, all in pajamas, their hair tousled, a few yawning. Natasha came toward him with a smile and apology for waking them. "Sorry to wake you. Go back to bed."

Obediently, the others vanished back into their cubicles and all was quiet again.

"What's wrong, Tash?"

Silently, she shook her head as she used a hand in the middle of his chest to push him back into the room so she could close the door. When she faced him again, the smile had turned into a frown of annoyance. "Clint's gone."

"Where'd he go?"

Shrugging, Natasha flexed her shoulders, something she only did when they were stiff from tension. "Didn't leave a note. He was supposed to be on duty until 0400, but when Kripke came around to relieve him, no Clint. Not in the control room, cafeteria or any of the bathrooms. He's not on the roof either, and one of the vehicles is gone."

Bruce drew Natasha to the bed, which was really just the mattress from a cot, and urged her to sit. He got behind her, using his thumbs to massage the sore spot between her shoulder blades. She moaned with pleasure, the sound ending on a long sigh when he moved out along her shoulders then down her spine. "Did you check with Chris?"

"Mm-mm. Yeah. He's coming back because his stuff is still here." Natasha uncrossed her legs and leaned back against him, taking his hands and bringing them around her stomach.

"Let's give him a day before we send out a search party," Bruce suggested. To distract her, he planted a soft kiss on her ear then on the side of her neck, continuing along the edge of her jaw to the corner of her mouth. While he was doing that, she wrapped her fingers around his palms and moved his hands down and under the edge of her top. He obeyed her unspoken command, letting his actions speak for him. He wanted her to know that he loved every inch of her and that every inch of _him_ was for her alone. Before long, they were on an amusement park ride of sensation.

When they had satisfied each other, just as Bruce was about to go to sleep, he heard Natasha whisper, "_Ya tebya lyublyu, __plyushevyy mishka__moya._"

~~O~~

The day was nearing its end when Clint finally returned to the Bunker. Natasha was waiting for him at the secret entrance and looking none too pleased. In the past, she would've come looking for him. However, it had probably been Banner's idea to give him some time to come back on his own. _I owe Banner one._

Without a word, he breezed past her, cut through the control room and down the hall to his cubicle. Relentless, she followed him, not speaking, lurking in the doorway while he shoved what few possessions he had into a duffle bag and zipped it.

He hoped she'd get bored and leave, but no such luck. She blocked the opening, using her glare on one of the milder settings that conveyed concern as well as annoyance and frustration. "Where were you?"

Glaring back until she moved out of the way, Clint strode quickly down the hall. "I had business to take care of."

"What kind of business?"

"Personal business." Natasha grabbed his arm, yanking him to a stop. Apparently he wouldn't be able to get on with his life until he told her what she wanted to know. "I had to go out. Notice that I'm using my 'I don't want to talk about it' voice, and let it go."

He took off again and she stayed with him. "Is this still about Adele?"

Coming to a stop, Clint let out a long sigh. Without looking, he knew she was gloating over getting her way. "No. I got bored on watch so I started surfing the 'net."

"And?" Grabbing his arm, Natasha forced him to look at her, which he did reluctantly.

"I found an obituary for Elisabeta. She died in her sleep two days after we had dinner." Natasha's hand found his, holding on tight. "I went to offer my condolences to Anya then to the gravesite and just sat there for a while." Silently, Clint thanked his partner for pushing him to talk because he really did feel better. "I told Elisabeta."

He felt Natasha's shock in the way her shoulders stiffened. "What did you tell her?"

Head down, he looked at his feet then up to his partner's face. "Everything, Nat. I told her _everything._" Clint waved a hand at the world in general, snorting humorlessly. "About me, SHIELD, the invasion, HYDRA. The funny part is she already knew I wasn't Ryland York."

He rubbed both hands down his face and chuckled. "She knew from the beginning. When the real Ryland York arrived, she didn't like his looks so she sent him packing. Then, when she saw me, she hoped I would be so flattered by her boldness that I'd agree go to the party with her. It threw her a little, when I claimed to _be_ York so we both kept the fiction going because it served our purposes. I got into the party and she had a charming date. _Her_ words, not _mine_."

Natasha looked back and smiled. "And yet another woman falls for the Barton charisma. What about Anya? What did _she_ say?"

"She still thinks I'm York, and I didn't see any reason to tell her otherwise. The poor girl's been through enough. Should get a little better though."

"Oh?"

He adjusted the set of his feet. "Yeah. I hacked into the probate court's files. Except for moderate bequeaths to the other employees, Anya is the sole heir to Elisabeta's hundred million dollar estate. The attorneys should be giving her the news any day now. I just hope she doesn't end up with some gold-digging creep."

"There's an easy way to make sure that doesn't happen."

A slow smile dimpled Natasha's cheeks and Clint was instantly on his guard. "How?"

"Marry her yourself, of course."

Though the very thought of marrying _anyone_ made him start to hyperventilate, Clint managed to appear to be thinking it over. Then, he shook his head. "Wouldn't work. I'll be gone most of the time, and she deserves to have someone who's there for her every day."

Natasha made a quick recovery, giving him a knowing smile. "But you're going to keep an eye on her."

Clint shrugged and crossed his arms, adding a smirk for effect. "Yeah."

Natasha gave him a nod as she left, and Clint was just a little surprised to realize that talking about Elisabeta had made him feel better instead of worse. Or was it because he'd confessed all to the older woman knowing that she wouldn't breathe a word of it to anyone? His reason for telling her hadn't been because she was dying and would take his secrets to the grave. He told her because he didn't want lies between them any longer.

**HYDRA Safe House**

**District XIX, Budapest**

Inside HYDRA's Budapest safe house, a man going by the name Martin Antal prepared to communicate with his superior via a secured line. "House" was a grand name for the tiny apartment over a restaurant. The place reeked with the stench of _paprikash_ with _galuska_, and _máglyarakás_, a sweet treat made with apples, apricot jam and meringue. Hours after the place closed, the smell continued to make him nauseous.

Martin's family had immigrated to the US and settled in Chicago long before he was born. He'd been given this assignment simply because he was fluent in Hungarian, English and German, the three most common languages spoken in Hungary, and he knew how to handle a gun. As of today, his business in this God-forsaken part of the world was done and he could get back home.

Several clicks sounded in his ear to let him know his superior was on the line. "Good day, ma'am."

"_And to you, Martin._"

From the woman's tone, she was observing pleasantries just for appearance's sake, but Martin didn't care. "I have the information you requested."

There was a long pause as if she were conferring with someone else. "_Did you verify?_"

"Of course. I made visual contact with Romanoff, Barton and Hill, as well as five other SHIELD agents then tracked them to the hotel where they were staying. From there, it was a simple matter to determine where their safe house was located."

"_You've done a drive-by?_"

A long as he'd been a HYDRA member, you'd think they would stop questioning him each time he called in a report. "Barton left the safe house around 0400. I followed him until he returned late the following afternoon." Martin had done nothing of the sort, but didn't care at the moment. His enthusiasm for this job had ended a _very_ long time ago.

"_Good. You'll lead Beta Squad during the assault._"

"I'm scheduled to return home now that reconnaissance is complete. I haven't been back in the States for over a year."

A sound of frustration followed what Martin assumed was a swear word in an unfamiliar language. "_Understand this: You will do __what__ you're told, __when__ you're told to do it. Yamana has command. Meet him and the others at the rendezvous point at 0300 for briefing. The operation will commence at 0600. No one from SHIELD gets out alive. Especially Barton and Romanoff. Hail HYDRA._"

"Hail…" a click signaled that his superior had disconnected the line. Martin got to his feet and paced the narrow hallway that led to the bedroom rubbing his hands together and thinking. This hadn't been the first time he'd been given a **** job. As long as he'd been with HYDRA, no matter how well he'd performed, he was never given the chance to move up in the ranks. It also wasn't the first time a promise from one of the higher-ups had been broken. And he wasn't the only one. Others had mentioned it as well though they'd stopped short of expressing their opinions of the management structure. When you're prepared to kill a million innocent people just because you can, breaking promises came easy.

Martin reflected on the reason he'd gotten involved with HYDRA in the first place. His mother had been ill and the insurance ran out so he'd borrowed money from someone with a less than pristine work history, and didn't require collateral. The new treatments hadn't worked and she'd died within six months. When he was laid off and was no longer able to make the payments, the loan shark had offered him another means to repay his debt: working for HYDRA. Martin had regretted it from the beginning, but most of what he'd done hadn't had major consequences until he happened upon two of the Avengers right here in Budapest.

His superior's voice echoed inside his head. _No one from SHIELD gets out alive. Especially Barton and Romanoff._

It didn't take long for him to come to a decision. He went into the bedroom and changed into the black standard-issue uniform, put on the Kevlar vest and picked up the backpack that held his weapons. Catching sight of himself in the mirror over the dresser, he forced himself to not look away. To his reflection, he said, "****!"

To keep from being seen leaving, Martin eased the bedroom window open and stepped out onto the roof over the garage. He reached inside for his backpack and closed the window again. Shrugging into the backpack, he walked to the edge of the roof. This side faced a wooded grove that gave way onto an open field where children often played never knowing that others were deciding their fates.

Martin sat down with his legs over the side, turned and grasped the edge of the roof, his legs dangling above the ground. The drop was only about eight feet. He let go, landing silently in the thick grass. The older couple from whom he rented were in the front part of the house watching television and wouldn't even know he'd gone.

He adjusted the straps on his shoulders and made his way to the parking lot of a movie theater almost a mile away where he'd stashed a motorcycle in case of an emergency, and this certainly qualified as one. Picking up a piece of cardboard, he shoved it into the backpack.

Careful to avoid the security cameras, Martin wheeled the motorcycle out onto the street, swung his leg over and kicked started the engine. He revved it a few times and took off. Thirty minutes later, he arrived at his destination. After hiding the bike in the bushes, he took out a thick black marker and used to write on the cardboard.

Holding it above his head, Martin stepped out into the open facing the security camera he knew was hidden above the main entrance. It didn't take long to get a reaction. His cell phone vibrated with an incoming text. Using his thumb, he scrolled the screen, not surprised at the message.

_Weapons on ground, step back, hands behind head. 5 secs._

Obediently, Martin shucked the backpack and tossed it then took three steps back with his hands above his shoulders, the phone turned so he could see the screen.

_Face street._

Martin did as he was told. However, it was some time before he received another message. This time, it came in person.

"Turn around." He did so and found a variety of weapons pointed at him, including the bow and arrow in Barton's hands. His eyes narrow and dangerous, the archer ordered, "Take off your vest." Barton nodded to a woman with brown hair. "Yates."

The now former HYDRA member kept his movements slow and precise. He removed the vest and the woman Barton had called Yates came to take it and the phone from him. She handed the vest and the backpack to a man with a goatee then dropped the phone and brought the heel of her boot down on it. With a nod to Barton, she holstered her weapon and gave Martin the most thorough pat-down he'd ever received. Once her hands left his groin, he remarked, "In some cultures, we'd be considered engaged."

The woman didn't even crack a smile. "Didn't know HYDRA hired comedians."

"Name's Martin Antal. Well, the name I'm going by at the moment."

His stance aggressive, Barton asked, "Why are you _here_, Antal?"

"HYDRA knows where you are and they have orders to kill everyone, Agent Barton."

The other man's expression showed no surprise that Martin knew his name as he held the bow in his right hand, the arrow still nocked, leaving his left hand free. "Time?"

"0600, but I'm gonna assume that was a lie and say any minute now."

At a nod from Barton, Yates grabbed one arm and the goateed man the other, dragging him through a hole in the fence and across what had once been a parking lot. Most of the lines had faded and weeds had pushed through the asphalt creating cracks. Bringing up the rear, Barton was issuing orders to the unseen members of his team via radio.

Before they reached the entrance to their refuge, several SUVs came barreling down the road. Their progress tracked by the cloud of dust from the dirt road that hadn't been paved while the plant was in operation. They skidded to a stop and heavily armed men and women dressed in black spilled out, firing at them as they ran for cover.

The SHIELD agents dived behind a broken wall, Martin and Yates ending up together in a blocked stairway and behind the glass-walled structure that covered the lifts. Some of the panes of glass were broken, but most were intact. Crouched behind Yates, Martin wished for a weapon so he could defend the people that he himself had set up for a massacre.

Yates peeked around the corner, ducking back when a volley of fire came her way peppering them with chips of concrete and shattering some of the windows. One hit her on the cheek leaving a small trickle of blood.

"Gimme a weapon. I can help."

Snorting, Yates didn't even spare him a glance. "And let you shoot me in the back? No thanks."

"I'm on _your_ side, remember?" Yates threw herself backward hitting him in the chest, both of them falling down to the bottom of the short flight of steps as bullets whizzed over their heads. She elbowed him in the stomach as she levered herself off him and peeked over the top.

With her attention on the main group, Yates didn't see the sniper who'd separated from the others and now had them both in his sights. Just as he pulled the trigger, Martin grabbed Yates, throwing them both back down to the bottom again. She cried out and collapsed on top of him. He wiggled from under and rolled her over. Her right side was covered in blood and some of it was on him.

Raising his voice, Martin called out, "Barton, Yates is hit!"

**TBC**

**A/N:** _Ya tebya lyublyu, __plyushevyy mishka__moya_: I love you, my teddy bear.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: **Sequel to _Taking a Chance_. It contains massive spoilers for _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_. If you haven't seen the movie, some of what happens may not make sense.

Lady Pandora did the Beta. Any mistakes after that are all mine, which is SOP.

Ladygris has been experiencing some real life issues that are taking all of her time and energy. Prayer would be helpful. If you would like to send her a good-will message, I encourage you to do so. Thank you, on her behalf.

Namaste,

~Sandy

**Avengers**

**A Hole in the World  
Chapter 10**

Clint dived behind a partially destroyed cement wall, almost landing on the bow. With a war yell that sounded more like victory, Cooper came over the wall after him, ducking and rolling. He scrabbled through the dirt to Clint's side using his elbows and feet pressing his back against the wall, panting and grinning. "And here I thought nothin' excitin' ever happened in Budapest."

Rolling his eyes at Cooper's Kentucky accent coming out, Clint turned his attention to checking over the bow. "Rather have boring. Where're Yates and Antal?"

"Uh," Cooper brushed a hand through the hair on his chin then got to his knees, "not sure. When I zigged, they zagged."

Gunfire from both sides sounded loud to Clint, but then everything sounded louder since the surgery to restore his hearing. Cooper moved into a crouch, his weapon poised to deliver a killing blow to the enemy. He popped up, fired off a few rounds and ducked again as bullets flew over his head. Yates cried out and a moment later, Antal's voice called to him, "_Barton, Yates is hit!_"

"****!" Clint clicked the radio twice. "Nat, doc, you there? You copy?"

Natasha's voice was a calm port in the storm of the firefight. "_Can she be moved?_"

"Not sure. Yates, come in…Yates respond!"

The sound of fumbling echoed in Clint's ear then a voice that didn't belong to Yates joined the conversation. "_Antal here. I'm trying to stop the bleeding, but…Sniper! Two o'clock high!_"

In one smooth motion, Clint nocked an arrow, popped up, located the target, and fired, dropping back behind the wall next to Cooper amid a hail of gunfire. There was a shout and the unmistakable sound of someone hitting the ground with a thump.

"Heard you never miss. Glad I got to see it first-hand." Cooper chuckled. "We're all gonna die, ain't we?"

Annoyed that the man never seemed to lose his cool, Clint resisted another eye roll as he clicked the radio. "All units, who has visual on the bad guys?" To Cooper he said, "It ain't over yet, and the fat lady's nowhere around."

One by one, Clint verified that the only injury was Yates. Somehow, they had to get her to Banner, before it was too late.

~~O~~

Standing next to Natasha, Bruce shifted his feet, worry for his friends in his eyes and stance. He glanced at the heart monitor on his wrist and automatically used meditation to bring his pulse down. The number slowly dropped back to near normal. He took several more deep breaths to rein in the urge to pace.

Natasha quietly conferred with the men and women outside using verbal shorthand, though Bruce got the gist. On the wall-mounted monitor, the infrared cameras displayed brightly colored shapes indicating the position of not only the SHIELD agents, but HYDRA members as well. With a few whispered words, she relayed the info to Clint and the others. Not that it helped much. Their people were pinned down at the other end of the plant near the useless lifts. And that gave Bruce a way of helping them. "Tash, I have an idea…"

He laid out his plan and to his surprise, Natasha nodded. "That's doable. When they closed down the plant, for some reason, a huge metal door was welded into place over the only internal access." She tapped the monitor and an area was highlighted. "We should be able to rescue everyone with minimal injuries."

Bruce's relief was short-lived as he looked over Natasha's shoulder at the screen in time to see a man in a tree taking aim. Before he could warn anyone, a shot was fired. On the lower left of the infrared screen, two figures huddled, one behind the other. The one on front jerked backward, both figures falling to the ground. The larger of the two knelt beside the other. To Bruce it looked like he'd taken off his shirt and pressed it to the stomach area of the one on the ground. Clint called for all units to report, and a strange man's voice came over the radio saying that Yates had been injured. Bruce called attention to the situation by touched Natasha on the shoulder and pointing.

She was already in motion, pointing at two of the agents. "Get some C-4 and follow me."

The man and woman were already on their way out. Natasha reached under one of the unused consoles and brought out her Widow's Bites. Next, she put on a dual thigh holster and shoved a handgun into each. The other agents, Maxine "Max" Smith and John Weston, returned. Each carried a pack over their shoulders and were armed with several sniper rifles, handing them out to the others. Bruce remembered their names from when Cooper had teased them because their names were so close to the firearms manufacturer of Smith and Wesson. The partners put a stop to the teasing simply by telling everyone Cooper's first name was Josiah.

Natasha accepted one of the rifles, giving it a quick check as Bruce had seen all the agents do though he wasn't sure why.

"Let's get this done." Over her shoulder, she said, "Bruce, round up what you need and get ready for more casualties, just in case."

"I'm ready now, _and_ I'm going." He picked up a large battered satchel and hooked it over his shoulder, falling into step behind the other agents. He matched the glare Natasha shot at him with an impertinent lift of his left eyebrow, and she gave in. "Chris needs immediate care. If necessary, I can do surgery on the spot."

"Fine." To another agent, Natasha said, "I need you to be my eyes and ears, Sato."

"No problem." He glanced down at the walking cast on his right leg below the knee. "Not much good like this."

As the group left the control room, they each stuck a headset over their ears and did a comm check. When they reached a heavy metal door welded in place, Max stopped Bruce with a hand on his shoulder and a slight upturn of her lips. "Better hang back, doc. This is gonna be a big bang and we don't want you gettin' hurt."

Shaking his head, he gave her an "oh really" grin. "Think about that for a moment, Maxine."

In response, she rolled her eyes and unslung her rifle. "Hold this for me, would you?"

"Uh, sure." Holding the rifle in both hands, not sure what to do with it, Bruce ducked around a thick concrete wall, sticking his head out to watch as Max and Weston attached globs of C-4 at the weakest points of the welding and stuck detonators in them. They hightailed it back to safety, Natasha standing between Bruce and the opening. He understood it was instinctive, her need to protect him, but it wasn't necessary. In truth, Bruce felt he should be doing this alone. The Other Guy could've had it open by now and Yates would already be receiving treatment from one of the agents trained as a medic. On the downside of that thought was the fact that the only one of them qualified to perform surgery was himself. _Crap! I __hate__ Catch-22s._

Across from where Bruce huddled with Natasha, Max, and several others, Weston stood with a group of four agents. He held the detonator switch, flipped the cover up, his thumb hovering over the button. With a grin, he said, "Fire in the hole."

An ear-popping boom was followed by smoke, dust and chunks of concrete and metal flying down the hallway. It got in their hair and lungs when they inhaled. Then, when everything settled, they stepped out, a collective groan coming from everyone but Bruce. The door had been bent by the blast, but not enough for them to get through. Something told him it wouldn't be that easy. Such had been their luck on this trip.

Glancing at his watch, Bruce calculated the time since Yates had been shot. If Antal couldn't at least slow the bleeding, she might not make it. To the group he said, "Give me some cover fire from the roof and I'll cut across the yard to get to her."

Weston shook his head. "Not enough ground cover." He held up a hand drawn schematic of the building. "Yates and that HYDRA guy are here…" a forefinger pointed to a small flight of stairs that went down to a maintenance access that was only a few feet from the decorative glass enclosure. "I've seen what you can do, doc, so that's not an issue.

"So, if we put a couple of our people on the roof then they, and Barton's down below, lay some cover fire while Banner takes a couple of guys to provide the muscle, they can make a hole here," he drew a circle on the lower part of the enclosure indicating they'd have to knock out several panes of glass, "and bring Yates in that way. Hustle her off to surgery while we handle the rest."

Natasha nodded once. "Let's do it. We gotta get through the door first."

Max and Weston exchanged a look, Max saying, "Leave that to us. We just need a smaller bang to finish the job, and Bob's your uncle."

Snickers came from the group, and Natasha silenced them with a glare. Max crouched to rummage in her pack. "Go ahead and laugh, guys. I really _do_ have an Uncle Bob."

Natasha pointed to several men in the group. "You're with me on the roof. Head on up and I'll join you in a couple minutes."

Before anyone could move, Sato's voice sounded in their ears, _"Hey, guys. The sun's down and I don't like the looks of these guys. They're up to something, and it's not gonna be good._"

A moment later, the building shook once, hard. "_****! Grenades and Flash-bangs! They're throwing grena-_"

The building shook several times in succession, showering the agents with even more dust and pieces of concrete, already loosened by their failed attempt at removing the metal door. Bruce muttered, "****!" at the same time Natasha said, "_Chyort voz'mi!_"

Again, Sato's voice came to them, and as he predicted, it wasn't good news. "_Guys, they've destroyed all the exits except for the elevator shaft. If we don't stop them…_"

To the surprise of everyone, Weston huffed and said, "Well, ****! Plan _A_ didn't work and now plan frakin' B's a bust. We need a plan C. Did I mention that I _hate_ HYDRA?"

Bruce was still holding Max's rifle. He handed it back and slung his bag to the floor with a sound of frustration. "I got your plan C right here, John."

Natasha grabbed his arm. "No!"

"It's the only way, Tasha." He tapped his headset. "Clint? Bruce. Can your people keep them busy while the Other Guy opens a few doors?"

"_Roger that, doc. On your signal._"

Natasha turned Bruce's wrist over to look at his watch and joined the conversation having given in without a fight. "Three minutes from…now."

Pushing through the crowd of agents, Natasha led Bruce to one of the side exits they hadn't bothered to open after they moved in. The metal door was intact, but dented as if one of the outside walls had collapsed against it. She looked up at him and he looked back, their eyes saying what they didn't have time to verbalize. "Just think about saving Yates. You can do this, Bruce."

He spared a brief moment for a kiss then she turned and ran toward the end of the hall to the stairs. At sixty seconds, Bruce closed his eyes. Taking deep breaths, he called on the power of the Hulk that lived inside him. Soon, pain and anticipation surged, reminding him how good it felt to destroy things that annoyed and angered him.

~~O~~

"_Roger that, doc. On your signal._"

Barton's words rang in Martin's ear. He heard without understanding what all of it meant as he checked Yates's wound one more time. The bleeding had slowed somewhat, but there was so much blood, he couldn't tell how bad it was. He'd taken off his shirt and torn a strip off. Folding the shirt as best he could, he used the strip to tie the make-shift bandage around her narrow waist. Yates still held a gun in her right hand though he doubted she had the strength to pull the trigger had she been conscious. Her skin had taken on an unhealthy pallor and her pulse was thready.

It was his fault that the young woman had been shot, and Martin knew he had to make amends somehow. He eased the handgun from her grip and pulled the extra ammo from the pockets of her cargo pants, setting the magazines on the third step so he wouldn't have to fumble to reload. After a quick check of the weapon, he waited impatiently for the signal.

Barton's voice, filled with amusement, whispered in his ear. "_Get ready, boys and girls. It's show time._"

The SHIELD agent seemed to find humor in the situation, confusing Martin. In fact, all of them did, and it made him wonder about the sanity of all SHIELD agents and briefly consider returning to the dark side, but that bridge had already been burned. Then suddenly, all thought stuttered to a halt when an unholy roar echoed from the walls of the power plant. He tapped the headset. "What the _hell_ was that, Barton?"

Barton snorted. "_That, HYDRA-man, is the signal. All units engage!_"

Though there were no explosions, Martin heard the distinctive sound of concrete being crushed. The roar came again, followed by thunderous footsteps that shook the ground. He looked around, but couldn't see anything in the near total darkness. Ignoring the noise for now, he concentrated on taking potshots at his former allies.

The shaking got worse and Martin began to wonder if this area of Hungary was plagued by earthquakes, but then it stopped, and he could hear a woman's voice. He wasn't able to understand the words through the sound of gunfire. Then, that stopped too, replaced by shouts of curiosity, fear and alarm. From his vantage point, Martin couldn't see around the corner where they were pointing.

Grunting that sounded like the breathing of some great beast neared the hiding place Martin shared with Yates. It was coming from his right, and he instinctively turned toward it, bringing the muzzle of his weapon up and around as he did so. A shower of dust came down with chunks of the wall. He looked up to see a giant green hand grab the corner of the building. It was followed by a huge green monster clad only in torn pants. Martin realized that he'd just come face to face with the Hulk. And the beard told him that the man with the black and gray hair and beard he'd seen with Romanoff and Barton had to be Dr. Bruce Banner. "Sonofa…"

~~O~~

Grinning at Antal's reaction to seeing the Other Guy up close and personal, Clint figured it was time to hand out some sage advice. "Antal, listen carefully, and do _exactly_ as I say. Lower your weapon, don't make any aggressive moves, and step away from Yates."

"_I-Is that…_"

Trying not to laugh and failing miserably, Clint clicked the radio again. "It's the Hulk and he's coming for Yates. _Don't_ get in his way and _don't_ try to stop him." Hearing real fear from the other man sobered Clint's cavalier attitude. "He won't hurt her. Promise. Right now, he's the only shot she has."

Clint heard the sound of a weapon hitting concrete and fumbling movements as Antal followed his instructions. Through the headset, he heard the Hulk's deep, rumbling voice say, "_Ta-sha says bring Yates_."

Antal found his voice again though it wavered, betraying his fear. "_Be, uh, be careful. She's hurt._"

Hulk again, "_Yates hurt?_"

Antal took a deep breath, speaking slowly and calmly, "_Yes. She needs a doctor or she'll die._"

"_Yates __not__ die,_" the big man stated emphatically,"_Hulk save_."

Antal gasped, and Clint guessed it was because the Other Guy was so gentle with the injured woman. It was followed by a sigh of relief that cut off abruptly. "_No! No, don't. Aaaahhh! Wh-what're you doing? Put me down!_"

Hulk grunted, ignoring Antal's protests. "_Ta-sha says Hulk save Yates's friend too._"

Holding onto his laughter with difficulty, Clint chanced a peek over the wall, Cooper coming up beside him. Sure enough, Hulk had picked up Yates and the former HYDRA agent, carrying them both toward the hole he'd made in the side of the building. Inside, Clint could see agents milling around. Hulk set Antal down first then crouched and used both hands to gently pass Yates over to those waiting to accept the injured woman.

Light glinted off something flying through the air. Clint and Cooper ducked as Clint shouted, "Grenade!" a split second before it hit Hulk on the shoulder throwing him to the side. In his ear, Clint heard Antal cry out as the beast fell toward him.

~~O~~

From her perch on the roof, Natasha saw Bruce amble over to Yates's and Antal's hiding place. And just as she'd instructed, he carefully picked up the injured woman and Antal, and carried them over to Smith, Weston and the others. Sato had medic training and would care for Yates until Bruce was himself again. She was just a little concerned that he might not be able to do it in a timely manner, or that he would be unconscious and unable to help, but they hadn't a choice. Then, just when plan C was coming to a successful conclusion, Natasha heard Clint shout, "_Grenade!_"

The hand-held bomb hit Bruce in the back, and though she knew he could withstand its power, she still cringed. He was knocked sideways, falling toward Antal. The man screamed and Natasha prepared herself to see the HYDRA agent squashed to a pulp. A second before it would've become a reality Smith tackled Antal out of the way. They lay in a heap as Bruce stood up, turned and roared with anger.

"Hulk smash!" the big guy said as he stalked toward where the HYDRA agents were hiding in a grove of trees, still throwing grenades and firing at the SHIELD agents. Hulk tossed two of the SUVs aside as if they were toys. There were screams and lots of weapons fire as he dealt with the bad guys.

Natasha tapped her headset. "Everybody go! Now! Get inside."

She watched as Cooper and Clint sprinted toward the opening where Smith and Antal were just disappearing from sight. Clint stood out of the way urging the others inside and making certain no one had been left behind. To her companions, Natasha said, "Show's over, boys. Let's go."

Woods, a tall, muscular African-American man, nodded to where the Hulk had just uprooted a tree and thrown it across the field to land a long ways away before moving on to the next one. Behind him, a group of HYDRA agents had huddled together out of sight. With his back turned, they ran for the third vehicle, gunned the motor and took off. The Hulk made to follow then was distracted when Natasha called out to him. "Bruce! No! Let them go. We need you here, _l__yubimaya_. Remember Yates? You have to help her."

He turned sad eyes on her. "Yates hurt."

"Yes, that's right. Only _you_ can save her, but to do that, you have to be Bruce again." He shambled across the street and climbed up to the roof, squatting down in front of her and tilting his head to the side quizzically. His brow furrowed then he seemed to come to a decision.

"Hulk _like_ Yates. Bruce fix." The big man closed his eyes and breathed deeply, and soon, he began to shrink. His skin changed from green to a grayish color and then to Bruce's normal, lightly tanned coloring. Falling to his hands and knees with his head hanging down, Bruce panted then slowly lifted his head.

Natasha knelt in front of him, reaching out to touch his face. "You did it."

Still panting, he pushed himself onto his knees, looking down to see that he was naked. "Get me some clothes. I've got a patient to take care of."

Woods ran to his side already pulling a pair of cargo shorts from his pack. "Here you go, doc."

"Thanks." Bruce accepted the clothing as Woods and Natasha helped him stand, staying close while he stepped into the shorts and pulled them up to his waist. He fumbled with the closure, muttering under his breath. Natasha brushed his hands out of the way to button and zip the front for him. Then, she delved into a pocket and brought out a protein bar which he ate on the way down the stairs. Woods jogged ahead and returned with a T-shirt and shoes he'd taken from their room. Bruce nodded his thanks. "The kitchen has the best access to running water and a table the right height. We'll set up there. I need my bag, lots of hot water, towels and blankets, and someone to assist. And food. _Lots_ of food."

"On it," Woods said. He was gone in a flash, issuing orders over the radio.

Bruce covered a yawn with his fist while Natasha held his other hand. "I knew you could do it, _lyubimaya_. It'll be easier next time."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, but if I _never_ have to do that again, I'm okay with it."

The radio crackled then Sato's voice came on, "_Doc, we're ready for you._"

"Duty calls." He gave her hand a squeeze and took off.

Natasha watched Bruce go with a smile. While he was saving Yates's life, they had to get ready to go. "Has anyone seen Antal?"

Weston's voice came over the radio. "_He's with Yates. Refused to leave her side even after I threatened to shoot his ass._"

"He won't cause trouble. And if he does, Barton gets the first shot. After that, he's fair game." Raising her voice, Natasha addressed the group, "Smith, Weston, Woods and Nazari. Rig the C-4 and set the charges to a single switch so we can blow this place before we go."

A dark-haired agent at the back of the group spoke up. "What about the supplies, food and other stuff? 'Cause I got an idea."

"That's yours then, Jenks," Clint told him. "Osuna and Brophy, get the IDs we created and pass them out. Each of us makes our own way to the rendezvous in the States. When you're done, relieve Kaminsky and Lozier for guard duty."

Natasha continued, "Westcott and Meissner, you're with Dr. Banner and Sato. Anything they need, and I do mean _anything_, get it for them ASAP. Improvise if you have to. As long as we hit the road before HYDRA comes back with reinforcements."

Clint took over from his now former partner, "Everyone pack then get onto your assignments. Anyone with nothing to do, help where you can."

Everyone scattered, and while that was going on, Natasha returned to the room she shared with Bruce to pack, returning to drop the bags by the hole the Other Guy had made. Soon, they would all be at The Playground with other loyal SHIELD agents and the new director. Natasha was still annoyed with Hill for not confiding in her that she knew who had taken over, and that reminded her that they hadn't heard from Fury since Tahiti. Without knowing where he'd gone, Natasha had no way to make contact. She just hoped he'd stay in touch so they'd know he was alright.

Clint joined her a few moments later, dropping his and Yates's bags with the rest. She saw concern in his eyes and held his hand for a moment. In response, he got her into a one-armed hug, dropping a kiss on her forehead. "I'm gonna check on Yates and make sure HYDRA-man's not up to something."

Before she could make a response, he jogged out of sight.

~~O~~

Chris regained consciousness to find herself lying on something hard and cold. The last thing she remembered was getting shot and being tackled to the ground. She tried to sit up, groaning at the pain in her side. "Ow."

"Careful. You lost a lot of blood."

The voice was familiar, but only just. Turning her head to the left, Chris saw Antal bending over her and smiling while he held her hand. "Please tell me we weren't captured by HYDRA."

He chuckled. "No. We're still in the safe house. Dr. Banner says you're gonna be okay. The shot was through-and-through. Hardly worth all the fuss."

"_Not_ your call. I don't even _know_ you."

Reaching behind him, Antal pulled a chair over and sat down while keeping hold of her hand. "Sure you do. I saved your life. Well, me and the Hulk."

She snorted. "This is me totally ignoring the fact that it was _you_ who put us in danger in the first place."

Giving her a sheepish grin, he shrugged. "Was kinda hoping you wouldn't bring that up until after our kids are grown."

Not making a response to his obvious attempt at flirting, Chris pulled her hand free and rolled onto her left side so she could see the entire room. "Where is everyone?"

"Probably getting ready to blow this popsicle stand. Literally. Now that HYDRA knows you're here and you've got the Hulk as back-up, they'll be back, but with more troops."

"Yeah, _that's_ not gonna work. Hulk'll just take 'em out." Chris pushed to a sitting position, and with Antal's help, got to her feet.

"You shouldn't be up. Not until the doc says so."

She gripped his arms as a wave of dizziness set the room to spinning. "I'm _fine_. Just need to get my sea legs back."

There was barely a pause then Antal said, "Don't worry. I won't let go."

It wasn't so much the words as the way he said them that made her look at him as if he'd lost his mind. He smiled at her, gripped her right hand and put the other around her waist for support as they slowly walked to the other end of the room. They could hear voices in the cafeteria speaking in hushed tones. "You're not really Hungarian, are you?"

"My family's Hungarian. I'm second generation American from Chicago. Go Bears!"

She looked up and found him still smiling at her. When he appeared at the Bunker's front gate, Chris had wanted nothing to do with him aside from the pat-down and taking him into custody. But for some reason, she smiled back. "How'd you end up working for HYDRA?"

"Long story. Let's save it for the second date or we won't have anything to talk about over dinner."

Snorting a laugh, Chris put her hand out to push on the silver swinging door that opened into the cafeteria. "You know, if _this_ is an example of a typical first date for you, I can't _wait_ to see what you have planned for our next one."

~~O~~

With everyone working together, they uprighted one of the damaged SUVs, and Clint climbed into the driver's seat. The keys were still in the ignition so he tried to start it, but it just whined without turning over. Cooper stuck his head in the window, grinning. "Pop the hood, boss, and I'll have a look."

Clint did so and waited. A few minutes later, Cooper yelled, "Crank it!"

Not optimistic about their chances, Clint was pleasantly surprised when it started up. "Not bad."

Wiping his hands on a rag, Cooper grinned. "My dad ran a gas station outside of Lexington. For my sixth grade science project, I rebuilt the carburetor for a '65 'Cuda. Came away with third prize."

"Yeah, yeah. Fascinating. Load it up, boys. We gotta hit the road," Clint said as he got out and left the engine running. Not bothering with a flashlight, the archer returned to the building with Cooper jogging beside him. Behind him, he heard Jenks giving orders for stuff to be loaded into the back of the SUV.

Cooper drew Clint to a stop just before going inside. "What're we gonna do about Antal? We can't leave him here. HYDRA'll kill him."

Clint fingered the handgun holstered on his left thigh. "Taking him with us. He has intel we can use." Cooper looked skeptical. "I know this whole HYDRA situation has us all paranoid, but we can't let the actions of a few cause us to see the enemy where none exists. I'm pretty good at reading people, and so is Nat. If there was anything hinky with Antal, we'd know."

"I'll keep an eye on him just the same."

The agent turned and jogged in the opposite direction, Clint watching him go. When Cooper had disappeared into the darkness at the end of the hall, Clint headed for the cafeteria to check up on Yates. As he got close, he could hear voices in the kitchen, Yates and Antal. Listening to their words, his forehead creased in annoyance. _They're flirting!_ _Guess the attraction wasn't mutual after all. Crap._

With a sigh, Clint pushed open the cafeteria door just as Antal was letting Yates down into a chair and taking the seat next to her. "You should be resting, probie."

"I'm good to go, boss. Let's hit the road."

Clint tucked his thumbs into the waistband of his pants, and watched Antal suspiciously. Yes, they were taking the man with them, but Clint didn't want him to think he'd get off easy just because he turned himself in. To Yates, he said, "We leave when the doc says you're ready. Not before."

Natasha was sitting next to Banner who was knocked out, his head resting on his folded arms, several empty plates on the table in front of him. "He went from the hulk-out straight to surgery. We'll let him sleep a little longer."

"I'm awake." Banner sat up, rubbing his eyes and yawning. He looked at his watch, stood and stretched. "I need to do a quick exam, Chris."

"I just sat down, doc. We can do it here." Someone had changed Yates's shirt and pants at some point because there was no blood though she didn't seem to notice. Or maybe she just didn't care. She leaned to the left and pulled her shirt up to expose her right side.

Banner knelt beside her and gently peeled back the edge of the bandage, lightly probing the area. She hissed in pain then shook her head at Banner's questioning glance. He pushed up the back of the shirt and had her lean forward. Apparently satisfied, Banner recovered the wound and stood. "She's good to go, Clint, but _no_ strenuous activities. None at all. No running, lifting, bending, et cetera for seven to ten days at least. Someone has to be with her at _all times_ while she's traveling."

"That's me," Clint stated shortly, expecting no dissenters, and there were none though Antal signified his intent to join them with a nod. In response, Yates smiled.

Natasha stepped forward then, taking everyone's attention. "We're loaded up and ready to roll." She met the eyes of each member of their group. "Everyone has the coordinates of The Playground. We'll meet in town and travel the last leg together."

~~O~~

Standing with Natasha beside the car that would take them away from the refuge that had nearly become their tomb, Bruce kept an eye on Yates while Cooper and Clint did the same for Antal, who in turn watched Yates, never straying far from her side. Bruce found the man's actions understandable. He hadn't talked to him, but he'd had plenty of time to make observations.

Antal deeply regretted being involved with HYDRA though he hadn't yet shared how it had come about. When they reached the secret base, Antal would be imprisoned and thoroughly questioned, not only by Clint and Natasha, but the new director as well, whoever it was.

Weston, looking very self-satisfied, held out the detonator switch. Clint took it from him, then turned and handed it to Yates. "Care to do the honors, probie?"

The young woman smiled and took the device. "Thank you, sir." Yates used her thumb to flip up the guard and gave them all a lopsided smile. She said, "Fire in the hole," and pressed the button.

**TBC**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: **Sequel to _Taking a Chance_. It contains massive spoilers for _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_. If you haven't seen the movie, some of what happens may not make sense.

Lady Pandora did the Beta. Any mistakes after that are all mine, which is SOP.

Ladygris has been experiencing some real life issues that are taking all of her time and energy. Prayer would be helpful. If you would like to send her a good-will message, I encourage you to do so. Thank you, on her behalf.

Namaste,

~Sandy

**Avengers**

**A Hole in the World  
Chapter 11**

Riding in the same vehicle with Natasha, Cooper, Weston and Smith, Bruce watched the scenery scroll by without really seeing it. Exhaustion nibbled at the edges of his consciousness and he wanted nothing more than to go to sleep with Natasha beside him and have them wake up together in the shack he'd been using as a clinic in Brazil. The only drawback to that scenario is that Theo wouldn't be with them.

As it stood, it would be months before he could return, and each day brought the possibility that people like Jairo and the pregnant woman could die because they had no one with the medical knowledge to help them. And though he knew that his efforts amounted to just a small percentage of those who needed care, he still believed as he always had, that one person _can_ make a difference.

Weston pulled to a stop behind the SUV salvaged from HYDRA jerking Bruce out of his wayward thoughts. Jenks got out, locked the vehicle, dropped the key and a note into the mailbox of the children's home, and came to join them, scooting into the back seat.

As Weston pulled away from the curb, he said, "Good idea, giving all that food and clothing to the kids, Jenks."

The other man shrugged off the praise. "I grew up in foster care. The people were nice, but there wasn't much to go around. Our government programs are a load of bull****. I figure it's probably the same here."

There was no good response to that statement so Bruce crossed his arms and let his head fall back against the headrest, and very soon, he'd fallen asleep.

**The Hamptons**

The yellow cab crawled up the curved driveway past a meticulously maintained lawn, coming to a stop behind a black Jaguar parked next to a white Lexus, both new within the last year. The passenger let himself out and went to the trunk, joined by the driver. He exchanged cash for his luggage, a single leather suitcase, and waited until the cab was gone to ring the bell.

The front door was opened by a woman in her thirties wearing a gray and white uniform. She looked him over, her expression giving nothing away of what she was thinking, "May I help you?"

"I'd like to speak to the lady of the house, please. It's a personal matter."

"Your name, sir?"

One side of his mouth turned upward in a smile. "Just say 'Go Warthogs'. She'll know who it is."

With a nod, the woman went to the phone on the table next to the stairs. She spoke briefly and replaced the handset. "Come with me, please."

She opened one side of a set of double doors. He entered and she closed the door behind him. Instead of taking a seat on one of the richly upholstered sofas and chairs, he wondered around the room, stopping to examine framed photographs on the mantel and tables. Most of them were family photos with the same three people, a man, a woman and a young girl at various ages. Eventually, the man disappeared as later photos showed the girl graduating high school and college with only the woman at her side.

A brass urn had a place of honor on a table near the window that looked out onto the garden. Beside it was a photo of the man, alone and smiling, relaxed in a lounge chair with a glass of iced tea in one hand.

The door opened and closed behind him. Then, a voice from his past said, "Hello, Nick."

Putting on a smile, Nick Fury turned to face the woman he hadn't seen since college. "Hello, Gina. Long time, no see."

The last time Fury had set eyes on Gina DeLuca, she'd been asleep, her dark hair spread over the white pillowcase. He'd gotten up in the middle of the night and left without saying good-bye. Now, her black hair had strands of white running through it, but she was still as beautiful as the day they met.

He had no idea what sort of reception he'd receive just showing up out of the blue, though he doubted she'd welcome him with open arms. More likely, she'd slap his face and send him packing. To his surprise, she did neither.

Gina crossed the room, her eyes never leaving his face. When she stopped in front of him, he took off the sunglasses that hid his ruined left eye. Gina glanced at the scar then down at the urn. When their eyes met again, she smiled. "It's good to see you."

"And you. What's it been, thirty-two years?"

"As of this past spring, yes." She gestured and he took a seat on the sofa facing the fireplace while she sat in an armchair. "What brings you to my little corner of the world? Are you on vacation?"

"Recently retired, and looking for a place to settle."

The door opened, and the woman from before came in. Gina nodded and stood. "You've always had impeccable timing, Nick. We were just about to sit down to dinner. Would you care to join us?"

"Us?"

"You remember my daughter Naomi. She was three the last time you saw her. Well, at the age of twenty-five, she became the youngest staff psychologist ever to work for the Denver Police Department. She's been with them for eight years, and has just come home for a visit."

Fury gestured for Gina to lead the way. "I would very much like to see her again."

Laughing, Gina stopped with her hand on the doorknob of the dining room. "Fair warning. She'll try to psychoanalyze you, and she's very good at it. You don't even know what's happening until it's too late."

With an internal smirk, Fury replied, "I'll try not to let her trick me into revealing hidden skeletons."

**The Playground**

"Director?"

Still not used to his new title, Coulson didn't react until Hill came to stand beside him. He glanced at her then back to the view. Instead of real windows that looked out onto clouds or the surrounding landscape like those on the bus, his office at the secret base only showed a hologram of the outside world. Most of The Playground was underground and heavily fortified. It was also protected from being scanned by satellites and didn't show on any hard-copy maps. The only way to find this place was to program GPS with the coordinates, provided you _had_ the coordinates in the first place.

Coulson crossed his arms. "You used to call me Phil. What's changed?"

"You're the director now. _That's_ what's changed."

"Friends call each other by their first names." Hill looked down then back to his face, her lips pursed as if to keep from speaking out of turn. Coulson had seen her do it with Fury. "We _are_ still friends, aren't we?"

Hill's hands went behind her back. "Your choice, sir."

"Damn straight." He turned to face his friend, one eyebrow raised in annoyance. "So, you traveled all the way from Budapest to talk semantics?"

The pole Hill had up her backside dissolved and she smiled. "I've received a message from my contact at the safe house. They're on the way. Should be here in two to three days at most. Barton and Romanoff were especially pissed that I wouldn't divulge the name of the new director."

Coulson unbuttoned his jacket and spread the sides to jam his fists into his hips. "Not telling the Avengers I'm alive was Fury's order, and it made sense at the time. You could've made a judgment call and brought them into the loop."

"True, but it'll be so much more entertaining for _me_ to see your face when you see _their_ faces seeing you alive when they thought you were dead."

Coulson shook his head. "When I figure out what that means, I'll respond with a sassy, smartass come-back that will have you in therapy for years. Clue Koenig in on what to expect when they get here and have quarters made ready. A double for Banner and Romanoff."

At the door, Hill faced him again. "By the way, you lost the pool again."

Shrugging, Coulson settled behind the desk. "Easy come, easy go."

"Rogers, Stark and Thor will be here in a few days."

"Not looking forward to any of those conversations." He reached for a bottle of water and twisted off the top. "Ward is our only HYDRA prisoner at the moment. No one is to be left alone with him, especially not the Avengers or any member of my team."

Hill pursed her lips again, this time to keep from grinning. "Of course, _director_."

When the door closed behind Hill, Coulson rocked in his chair. There was so much work that had to be done in the rebuilding of SHIELD, starting with a firmer foundation. He had motivation and drive to get the job done, and soon, he'd have all the help he needed. But for now, he just wanted to sit quietly and think.

**Fifty-three Hours Later**

**17.3 Miles Outside of Destiny Point**

The caravan of five off-road vehicles came to a stop, one beside the other. As if they'd choreographed it, all doors opened at once, disgorging a total of twenty-one SHIELD agents, on civilian doctor, and one ex-HYDRA agent.

Natasha didn't have to look around to know that the entire group was waiting for something to happen. Not knowing what that might be she thought it best to be cautious. "Bruce?"

He nodded once and retreated to the rear of the 4WD vehicle they'd ridden in with Clint, Yates and Antal. Clint crossed his arms and planted his feet shoulder width apart.

"Now what?" Antal asked with a furtive glance at their surroundings. There was only forest as far as the eye could see. Not one human artifact marred the pristine landscape.

"We wait."

A few minutes later, hidden weapons turrets rose out of their nests, red targeting lasers shining red dots on the agents accompanied by a mechanical voice. "_Weapons on the ground. Hands in the air._"

Once they'd done as the voice directed, it spoke again. "Step forward one at a time and identify yourselves. Beginning with…"

Several of the red dots came to rest in the center of Natasha's chest. She looked down at them then back at the unseen cameras, one eyebrow crawling up her forehead to join a grin. "_Men'a zovut Natasha Romanoff, __Chernaya Vdova, Natalia Romanova, i drugiye__. Xotite potancevat?_"

The voice didn't respond immediately. When it did, the answer surprised everyone. "_I'll save a place for you on my dance card at the Winter Festival, Agent Romanoff._"

When the red dots sought him out, Bruce moved through the crowd, hands hanging at his side. "Dr. Robert Bruce Banner. Sometimes known as the Other Guy or the, uh, Hulk. And Tasha's dance card is _full_."

Natasha took his hand. "Yes, it is _plyushevyy mishka__moya._"

There were a few stifled snickers from their companions and the voice said, "_Did she just call you 'teddy bear'?_"

Bruce looked down at Natasha with an affectionate smile. "Yes, she did."

Clint took Bruce's place, deliberately hooked his thumbs into his belt, one hip stuck out to the side. "Clinton Frances Barton, AKA the Amazing Hawkeye and a bunch of other aliases. Everything else is need-to-know."

He nodded to Cooper. "Josiah Alexander Cooper. I have a few AKAs too. You want 'em?"

"_That won't be necessary._"

The red dots moved on to the next person. "Christina Marie Yates…"

~~O~~

Careful to keep his hands in sight at all times, the man known as Martin Antal waited his turn with the mysterious voice. He considered lying, but only for a moment. The people on the other end had to be running everything through a sophisticated identification program for verification. _Probably got samples of our DNA from the air too._

Finally, the red dots appeared on his chest. With a quick glance at Yates, Barton and Romanoff, he moved out into the open away from the others just in case something happened, like he was shot through the heart. He didn't want anyone else getting hurt. "I've gone by the names Johan Schneider, Jason Ellis, Robbie Duncan, Connor Walsh, and most recently Martin Antal. But the name given to me at birth is James Matthias Decker. Matt to my family and friends. I was born May 14, 1973 in Chicago, Illinois to William and Audrey Decker. I'm an only child."

There was a long pause, and Matt imagined a stern-faced man with military short hair and square shoulders doing a computer search, every last moment of Matt's life appearing on the monitors in front of him. The names of his family back at least five generations, pictures, birth certificates, social security numbers, IRS records, medical records, everything.

Without being told, Matt continued, "Until seven years and three months ago, I worked for TechNet International as a liaison and translator for the European offices. I speak Hungarian, German, Italian, French and Gaelic.

"My mother became ill in 2004, and eventually the insurance dropped her. Out of desperation, I made some bad decisions which ultimately did no good as she died a short time later. After I was laid off during the economic downturn, I was approached by someone who said he and his employers could help me out of my financial difficulties. All I had to do is go where they told me to go, keep my eyes open and report what I saw. By the time I found out I was working for HYDRA, I was in too deep. When I tried to leave, they made it so that no one would hire me. Until a few days ago, I couldn't see a way out. So, whatever you want to do to me, go ahead. It can't be any worse than being forced to commit treason."

"_That's more than enough, Mr. Decker. In fact, it's too much information._"

"I don't want you to think I'm hiding anything."

"_And we appreciate the effort. However, we'll still verify everything you've told us, and plan to tell us in the future._" A faint vibration started under their feet, and they all took a step back when the ground opened in front of them. "_Please come inside. The valet will take care of your vehicles._"

Matt returned to Chris's side, an arm around her waist. With Barton, Romanoff and Banner leading, the group walked down the ramp to an open area that branched off to the left, their footsteps echoing from the walls. They kept going until they reached a door that slid aside as they approached. In this new area they found a bank of lifts with the doors open. As soon as the lifts were full, the doors closed. Matt's stomach did a little bounce due to the speed with which they descended, but he was fine by the time they came to a stop.

The doors opened and they were greeted by Maria Hill. She was standing beside a portly gentleman in a suit, both backed up by a squad of heavily armed soldiers. Hill's eyes scanned the crowd and came back to the three Avengers in the front. With a twinkle in her brown eyes, she said, "Welcome to the Playground, boys and girls. This is Billy Koenig. He will be issuing security lanyards to each of you on a case by case basis."

Koenig smiled blandly, gesturing two of the guards forward. "Our first order of business is you, Mr. Decker. Please accompany these gentlemen to our guest quarters."

_Guest quarters equals detention area._ Matt took a deep breath, slanting his eyes over to Chris when she brushed the back of his hand with a finger. She nodded once then he separated from her, presenting his hands for the cuffs. The position left him facing Hill. She pursed her lips for a moment as if working out something in her head, but if everything he'd heard about her was true-and he had no reason to think otherwise-she was doing it for show. "Your neighbor's not in a talkative mood these days. He's still recovering from a fractured larynx. You might know him. Grant Ward."

The name wasn't familiar to Matt. "Sorry. My missions were solo. I've only met a few others assigned the same handler." At Hill's skeptical huff, he rolled his eyes. "It's not like we hung out on our days off, Commander. I only spoke to my handler on the phone a few times a year. The rest of the time we communicated via email. I've never met her in person. I'm not even certain she's a _she_. I was considered a low-level operative and not privy to most of what went on with HYDRA. I'm sorry again if it's not good enough for you, but I _will_ tell you everything I know."

One of Hill's eyebrows lifted, all trace of humor replaced with an eerie, almost evil glint. "Yes, you will."

Those three words had so much ice in them, Matt literally shivered as the guards led him to the lifts. And he was certain the frisson of foreboding was just the sensation of the car descending farther into the complex. Wasn't it?

~~O~~

So, Martin Antal's real name was Matthias Decker. The personal information he'd given to the security system had been easy to substantiate along with everything else he'd told them about himself. Natasha knew as well as any of them how easy it was for lies to appear to be the truth. If anything was found to refute Decker's claims of how he'd gotten involved with HYDRA, the man would go to prison for the rest of his life.

Natasha knew Decker's regret was genuine, though nothing excused his actions during the insurrection. The only fly in the ointment was that Decker had been in Budapest for over a year when everything hit the fan. There was no way he could've taken part in the DC disaster. But he had to have known that Senator Pearce was their leader and about project Insight, even if all he knew was of its existence.

It may not have been rational to everyone else, but Natasha believed Decker wanted to do right by SHIELD, and Clint agreed, as did Yates. How long the man spent in detention would be determined by the director.

When the lift doors closed behind Decker and the guards, Clint took a step forward, crossed his arms and stated, "We're done screwin' around, Hill. Take us to the director."

Natasha smirked at Clint's aggressiveness. He was only saying what everyone else was thinking, but he wasn't always the most diplomatic. "What my ex-partner is trying to say is _please_ take us to our leader."

Hill touched her headset to indicate she was listening to someone. She again met each set of eyes, and strangely, smiled with what most would take as affection though she would deny it. "The director will see you now."

~~O~~

The group followed Hill down another hallway that seemed to be a dead end. As they approached, the entire wall slid to the side, opening onto an enormous hangar that was occupied by a large plane. Clint stumbled to a stop with his mouth open. Placing a hand on his friend's shoulder, Bruce whispered, "Clint? You okay?"

"Yeah." The archer pointed at the plane, his eyes taking in every line from nose to tail. "Wow. It's a _bus_." Tightening his grip on Barton's shoulder brought the archer out of his near-trance. "There was talk a few years back of building a small fleet of planes to be used by SHIELD specialty teams. Didn't know they'd gone live."

Clearing her throat, Hill drew attention back to herself, and Barton reluctantly faced her again. "As of now those of you who were level six or below, your security clearance has been raised to level seven. I know that some of you are already well above that, but what you're going to see today was need-to-know. Until now, you didn't have the need, and I wasn't cleared to bring you in."

Bruce stood between Natasha and Barton, with the former partners a half step back as if silently endorsing him as their leader. He didn't want the job, but to say so now would only draw attention they didn't need, and way more than the situation warranted. Instead, he accepted the appointment by taking a full step forward. "If you don't mind, Commander, could we move this along? The drive from town was long and arduous. We're hungry, thirsty and tired. Agent Yates just had surgery. I'll need to examine her."

With no sign that she thought it odd that he was speaking for their group, Hill nodded. "Of course, Dr. Banner." She touched her headset. "The director will be here soon."

Behind him, the others were whispering, once again making predictions as to the identity of the director. They'd done the same on the ride out, not coming to any firm conclusions then or now.

All talk ended when Koenig returned surprising them as no one had seen him leave. A handful of lanyards dangled from one hand. He walked through the group handing them out. "These have limited-access. You can go places like the living quarters, the cafeteria, gym, medical bay and most common areas. You will _not_, however, be permitted to enter the armory, this hangar bay, the any of the labs _or_ the Command Center unless escorted by someone with the proper clearance. Once the director has signed off, you'll be provided with your permanent security badges. If you need anything, dial *199 from the landlines found in your rooms and throughout the complex."

Koenig nodded and walked away. Bruce watched him go, surprised when Barton chuckled. In a deep, booming voice, the archer said, "In fearful day, in raging night, with strong hearts full, our souls ignite. When all seems lost in the war of light, look to the stars, for hope burns bright!"

Hill's brow furrowed in confusion. "What?"

Clint tucked his hands into his armpits and shifted all weight onto one foot. Over the years, Bruce had come to know this as a signal that the archer wasn't sensing danger. "I thought we could use a motto."

"Agent Barton is having a laugh at your expense, Commander. He just recited the oath of the Blue Lanterns. They are one of the nine corps empowered by a specific color of the emotional spectrum. The Blue Lanterns are powered by hope."

All conversation stopped at hearing the disembodied voice coming from nowhere and everywhere at once. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath as dramatic music floated through the air. Bruce recognized the voice just as the others had, but then he'd spoken to its owner as recently as six months ago. A quick glance left and right and he could tell that Barton and Natasha's vital signs had jumped off the scale. Before anyone could find their voice again, slow and steady footsteps came out of the darkness, echoing in the huge underground chamber just as Phil Coulson stepped into the light. In his right hand, Coulson held a digital recorder. He shut it off, silencing the music and remarking with a smile, "I've always wanted to do that."

~~O~~

Nearly every thought in Clint's head stuttered to a halt at the sound of the familiar voice. _It can't be! Coulson died over two years ago, stabbed through the heart by Loki._ Clint had spoken at his funeral. Had seen the coffin lowered into the ground and had even thrown a handful of dirt into the grave. _How could he be here now?_

Clint's eyes never left Coulson's as he came to a stop in front of the group. Behind him, Clint sensed shock and dismay from the others hitting him in a wave. Coulson swept his all-seeing gaze over them, stopping on Banner. He extended his hand with a smile. "Welcome to the Playground, Bruce."

"Thanks." Banner's eyes swept the room. "Love the new place, Phil."

Coulson shrugged offhandedly, as if they were best pals meeting on the street. "Bit of a fixer-upper. We're planning on painting. We'll also add a couple of throw pillows, hang a few pictures, and it'll look like new."

"It wasn't easy finding this place, but we had a good team."

"Commander Hill had a mole keeping us apprised of your progress these last couple of weeks." The smile faded to one edged with sadness. "I know you and your teammates would like to get settled. However, one of my team was injured during the unfortunate HYDRA business, and as you were involved in the early stages of testing for project TAHITI, I'd appreciate it if you'd assist our doctors."

"Of course." Banner rubbed his hands together, casting a quick glance around the room.

The light came on in the dark corner from where Coulson had emerged. A lean and very fit African-American man closed the cover of a light fixture telling Clint that Coulson had loosened the bulb on purpose. He came to stand behind and to the right of Coulson with the others.

Clint made an effort to concentrate on what Coulson was saying, saving his questions for when he cornered him later.

"I'd like you to meet my team. Pilot and specialist Melinda May," the Asian woman, dressed in black leather, nodded once, "Medic and weapons specialist, Antione Triplett. His grandfather was a member of the Howling Commandoes." The African-American man smiled, but didn't say anything. "Dr. Jemma Simmons and Dr. Leopold Fitz are the scientists. They're both indisposed at the moment. And last, but not least, Skye. She does computers." The young woman stepped forward with a smile.

Not able to help himself, Clint blurted out, "Skye what?"

Coulson and Skye exhibited eerily similar smirks, the young woman responding with, "Just Skye. Like Beyoncé, Adele, Moby, Pink."

Before Clint could say he'd never heard of any of those people, Coulson looked down at her, his smile affectionate in a fatherly way. "We have to work on that. The Director insists on everyone having a first _and_ last name."

Skye huffed and rolled her eyes at the old argument. "Their rooms are ready, AC. Want me show them the way?"

Though she was talking to Coulson, Skye kept sneaking looks at Natasha, Banner and Clint. Yes, he knew their reputations preceded them, and they sometimes had to deal with hero worship from the ranks, but he wasn't in the mood for it. Not today. His mind was still processing the fact that Coulson, a man whose dead body he'd seen with his own eyes, was alive. It was equal parts cool and creepy. Having Coulson back was fantastic, the best news Clint had heard in a long time. But it was also unsettling. _Very_ unsettling. A quick glance at Natasha confirmed she felt the same. And that reminded Clint that Banner had known Coulson was alive.

Turning to Triplett, Coulson said, "Trip, would you escort Dr. Banner to the medical bay? Get him something to eat and drink, and anything else he needs."

"Sure. This way please, doc." He waved an after gesture then came up beside Banner. As they turned the corner, Banner flashed a sheepish smile obviously meant for all of them, and Clint took it without making the smartass response that was on the tip of his tongue.

Skye started walking, expecting the new arrivals to follow her. With a quick glance at Natasha, Clint sped up just enough to come alongside her. His intention was to subtly interrogate Skye. "So, Skye. Tell me about yourself."

She slanted a look at him. "Like what?"

He shoved his hands into his pocket and shrugged, adding his most disarming smile. "How were you recruited into SHIELD?"

The smile she gave him in return told Clint she knew what he was up to and that she could play the game too. "I hacked into the SHIELD mainframe. AC caught me, but instead of putting me in prison for the rest of my life, he offered me a job. What about you, Agent Barton?"

Clint shrugged with studied nonchalance. "I was an assassin for hire."

Most people would stare at him for a long moment then decide he was having a joke at their expense. When they realized he was telling the truth, there would be a subtle distancing. But Skye was cut from a different cloth. She grinned. "Cool!"

~~O~~

The pleasant expression Coulson had shown to his friends and colleagues turned into a frown as soon as he and May were alone.

She came to stand at his side, also frowning. "They took it better than I thought."

He looked down into her dark brown eyes, smiling without humor. "Don't kid yourself. They're just biding their time. I expect to hear from Barton and Romanoff very soon. It won't be pretty. Probably go something like the conversation I had with Fury, but with a lot more yelling and swearing."

"Want me to intervene?"

Shaking his head, Coulson turned and headed for his office, May still at his side. "Putting off the inevitable will just make it worse. I have a conference with the new head of the council so I'll be incommunicado for at least the next three hours. After that, I'll be in my office."

When they reached his private communications room, May opened the door for him. He breathed a sigh of relief. Dealing with the oversight committee would be a piece of cake compared to what was in store for him in the near future.

Coulson waved a hand to activate the holographic system and waited for Councilwoman Hawley to call the meeting to order.

**Several Hours Later**

**The Director's Office**

Mentally and physically exhausted from the meeting with the council, Coulson entered his office, removed his jacket and rolled his shirt sleeves up to the elbows. He took two bottles of beer from the bar, twisted the tops off both, and spoke to the wall. "Come out of the vent and have a seat, Agent Barton."

There was a muffled thump then the office chair creaked as Barton sat down. "Keep your hands where I can see 'em and turn around."

Coulson did as requested, not at all surprised to see the muzzle of a gun pointed at him. Above it, Barton's unsmiling face hovered in the indirect lighting from the holographic window. Setting one of the open bottles on the desk, Coulson said, "Thanks for coming, Agent Barton."

The archer rested the ankle of one leg on the knee of the other, his expression unreadable. To most, anyway. From the glint in his eyes, Coulson knew Barton was holding his emotions under tenuous control. "Not here for small talk, pal. Just tell me who you _really_ are."

**TBC**

**A/N: **_Men'a zovut Natasha Romanoff, __Chernaya Vdova, Natalia Romanova, i drugiye__. Xotite potancevat? = _My name is Natasha Romanoff, Black Widow, Natalia Romanova, and others. Would you like to dance with me?


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: **Sequel to _Taking a Chance_. It contains massive spoilers for _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_. If you haven't seen the movie, some of what happens may not make sense.

Lady Pandora did the Beta. Any mistakes after that are all mine, which is SOP.

Ladygris has been experiencing some real life issues that are taking all of her time and energy. Prayer would be helpful. If you would like to send her a good-will message, I encourage you to do so. Thank you, on her behalf.

Namaste,

~Sandy

**Avengers**

**A Hole in the World**

**Chapter 12**

"Tell me who you _really_ are."

With those words, Coulson knew how this would go. Barton would demand answers, and he would try to appease him with the truth. Barton would be skeptical until presented with undeniable proof. He would provide the proof that Barton would reluctantly accept.

Taking a drink of the beer, Coulson ignored the weapon in Barton's hand and went to the fake window. Earlier, the scene had been a cityscape of Washington DC as it had been before HYDRA changed it forever. Now it was a view of the landscape outside of the base. The rotating scenes were meant to prevent a feeling of isolation from being so far underground, but all it did for Coulson is make him sad that the world had come to the point where people had to segregate themselves from each other to keep from being killed.

He took a deep breath and faced Barton, who hadn't moved except to pick up the beer. The archer sniffed the mouth of the bottle, shrugged and took a drink, all without taking his eyes from Coulson.

"I'm exactly who I appear to be, Clint: Phil Coulson. Your friend." He leaned against the window frame, crossing his ankles and shoving one hand through his hair. "I know it's a lot to take in. Go ahead. Ask me anything."

Barton took another long swallow of the beer. "Let's start with the same question. Who _are_ you? The Phil Coulson _I_ knew was killed by Loki before the Chitauri invasion, stabbed through the heart. That's not something where you just take a couple weeks off to rest and you're all better." Coulson peered at his friend, wondering if he'd known about the TAHITI project all along. But the look in his eyes said otherwise.

Then, Barton did something Coulson hadn't expected. He very deliberately made a show of putting the safety on his weapon and leaned forward to shove it into the back of his pants. "Maybe you're a clone, one of Stark's life model decoys or had surgery to make you look like Coulson."

"None of the above." Spreading his hands out to the side, Coulson smiled without humor. "What can I do to convince you?"

Clint picked up the beer and took another drink. "Show me the scar."

Setting the beer on the edge of the desk, Coulson unbuttoned the front of his shirt and spread the sides to show a scar about eight inches long and maybe a quarter inch wide over his heart. "Sometimes it aches in cold or damp weather."

"Looks real, but could be special effects make-up. Tell me something that only _Coulson_ and I would know."

Coulson sipped his beer and thought for a moment. "I know that your report on Budapest was only half the story."

Barton would know he was talking about his previous experience, and not his most recent visit to the city. He scoffed. "You could've gotten that from Hill or Fury. Try again."

Searching his memory as he buttoned his shirt, Coulson came up with an incident that no one else knew about. He'd never mentioned it to anyone, and was fairly certain Barton hadn't either. Picking up his beer, he took a sip and paced to the other side of the room, taking a seat in a leather armchair. "When you were fourteen, after an especially impressive display of your archery and knife throwing skills, you were approached by a man who said he admired your proficiency with the unconventional weapons. You, in turn, told this man to **** off, that you didn't give autographs.

"Years later, this same man was given the task of recruiting for a government-run espionage and law-enforcement agency. When he approached you with an offer of employment, once again you told the man to **** off. The next day, you changed your mind, and the rest, as they say, is history."

While Barton digested that bit of information, Coulson got them each another beer and resumed his seat. Barton took a long sip then held the bottle in both hands, rubbing a thumb through the condensation. "How long?"

"How long was I dead?" Coulson waited until Barton's eye met his. They knew each other well enough that the archer would know how deeply the circumstances had touched him. "I could tell you what you want to hear, that I was only dead a few minutes, but that would do both of us a disservice." Getting to his feet, he went to the window, now showing a beach scene with families frolicking in the sand. "Days, Clint. I was dead for _days_. And when the doctors revived me, I was in such pain that I begged them to let me die, but they wouldn't."

"Who…"

The single word was spoken so softly that Coulson wasn't certain he'd heard it. "Fury. Despite my previous recommendation that the TAHITI project be scrapped, he went forward with it. Said it was a 'break glass in case of emergency' situation."

"I heard rumors about the project. Didn't believe them."

"You should." Barton held the bottle in one hand, his expression the same one he used moments before shooting a live target. He was so tightly wound at the moment, Coulson was certain that, if he did throw the bottle at the wall like he wanted to, he wouldn't stop until everything in the room had been broken. Then, he'd start on the next room, and the next. And when he finally stopped, Barton would go after Fury.

The archer got to his feet stopping when Coulson said, "Whatever you're thinking of doing, Clint, _don't_. I've come to terms with it. You need to as well, or SHIELD can't use you. When you tell Natasha, and I know you will, leave out the details. She doesn't need to hear it."

Though he was understandably reluctant to do so, Barton nodded and left by climbing back into the vent. Barton gave a quick salute and a nod just before pulling the cover closed. That's how Coulson knew his friend would keep his promise. "And use the door next time!"

Barton's voice echoed from the ceiling, "_No promises!_"

~~O~~

After being shown to her room, Natasha waited until the rest of the group had moved on before taking herself on a tour of the complex. Just as Koenig had said, she was unable to enter certain areas. She could easily have bypassed the security protocols, but would save that for an emergency situation. They were nowhere near that as yet. For now, she would bide her time and wait for Clint to get back to her with his report. She knew her partner well. The second the door to his quarters closed behind him, he would've climbed into the ventilation system and headed for the director's office to question Coulson in private. If he really was Coulson. She had her doubts, even while trusting her instincts that the man they'd met today was the friend they'd watched die more than two years ago.

Frustrated, Natasha made her way back to the room she would share with Bruce. There, she found their bags side by side on the foot of the bed, but that wasn't all. In a corner sat an empty pet carrier. A quiver of excitement moved through her. "Theo?"

A loud and very excited meow reached her just before she felt a large furry body rubbing against her legs. Bending down, she scooped the orange and white cat into her arms. His purr was so loud, it even blocked out the susurration of the environmental system as she hugged him to her. "Theo! I've missed you _moy malen'kiy kotenok!_ Daddy will be _so_ glad to see you again. Were you a good boy for Uncle Phil and his friends?"

Carrying Theo with her, Natasha opened a built-in cabinet. Inside was an assortment of the cat's favorite foods, including cans of tuna in water. She found his box and a container of filler in the bathroom. "It looks like they thought of everything. Uncle Phil is one of Tasha's best friends, and I'm _so_ glad he brought you to us. Now what shall we do until Daddy comes home, _angel moy?_"

~~O~~

Hours after their arrival, Bruce was peering into a microscope. What he was seeing could easily be projected on the main monitor, but sometimes he found it useful to go back to basics. Maybe it was the position, head bent forward, hands making minute adjustments while he examined the drops of blood on the slide.

Fatigue made him yawn again. He rubbed his hands over his face then took his glasses from where he'd pushed them on top of his head. That's when he noticed the room had gone quiet except for the sound of the equipment and the machines monitoring the health and welfare of their only patient. Bruce was alone, the others having left, presumably for the night. While he preferred to work in solitary, sometimes it helped to have someone to bounce ideas off of to see if he was on the right track. Natasha called it brainstorming.

The doctors had been attempting to extract GH.325 from Coulson's and Skye's blood. And while he could see the substance in the samples and on the graphs displayed, getting it from their blood to Fitz wasn't nearly as easy as it sounded. Coulson was a universal donor, but Skye wasn't. And the amount of blood necessary to do Fitz any good would be more than either of them could handle.

If they'd been able to salvage even a couple of cc's of any version of the drug, Bruce might have been able to synthesize enough to give Fitz's immune system a boost to begin repairing the damage done to his body and brain during his near drowning. Right now, all they could do was hope and pray that Fitz would be okay.

Bruce replaced his glasses and went to check Fitz's vitals. Not that he needed to. The computer did the work without human intervention. If it detected a change that fell within the parameters set forth by its programming, someone would've been alerted. Bruce felt patients greatly benefited from human touch. Jemma Simmons, Fitz's partner, had been at his bedside almost constantly since the day they arrived after being rescued by Fury. It had taken all of Bruce's persuasiveness to convince her that she wouldn't be doing her friend any favors by allowing her own health to deteriorate, and finally, she accepted his suggestion and had gone to eat, shower and get some rest. Hopefully, the young woman was in her quarters sleeping or even socializing with her team.

Simmons had confessed to Bruce that some of the anger she had on Fitz's behalf had to do with the fact that the person responsible for his condition was here on the base. Grant Ward had been brought to the Playground where he was being questioned at random intervals, sometimes letting him sit in isolation for days on end.

Bruce scanned his card and was admitted to the room. Going to the computer, he called up Fitz's medical history to see if anything leapt out at him, something he could point to and say, "There it is. Now we can make him well again."

His stomach grumbled, a reminder that he hadn't eaten since they'd left the inn to make the arduous ride out to the base. Returning to the lab, Bruce located a thumb drive, shoved it into a port on the side of the computer and copied Fitz's medical history to read over in the comfort of his room.

As Bruce neared his assigned room, Natasha was just coming out. She gave him a bright smile and a kiss when he joined her. "I have a surprise for you. Actually, it was Phil's doing."

From behind the closed door, Bruce heard a plaintive meow. "Theo's here? For _realsies?_"

"Yes, for _realsies_. Say hello before we go eat. Oh, and don't think you're off the hook."

Genuinely confused, Bruce said, "Off the hook for what?"

Natasha huffed and glared. "_You_ knew Coulson was alive and didn't tell us. Tomorrow, you'll tell Clint and me why."

They were interrupted by Clint. "He can tell us _now_."

The archer joined them, and while he kept his arms loose at his sides, Bruce still got the feeling that, if Clint didn't like his answer, he wouldn't hesitate to say so, loudly.

Bruce looked from one to the other, stopping on Natasha, and finding her eyes silently pleading with him. He could never resist that look because it showed the vulnerable woman under the Black Widow exterior. It was something she didn't show to just anyone and Bruce felt blessed that she would show it to him. "I can explain in two words, Clint: confidentiality agreement. When I was brought in on the start of the TAHITI project, I had to sign a document advising me not to discuss any part of the project with anyone other than Fury, Hill and the other scientists. There was a special clause in it about Coulson."

The dual glare continued for a few more seconds, with Natasha the first to give in. "I'm sorry you had to carry that burden alone."

She looked at Clint, waiting for his response. Finally, his shoulders relaxed. "As excuses go, that's not a horrible one. Still, you could've trusted us to keep the secret."

"Really? If you'd known Coulson was alive, what would you have done, Clint?"

Natasha touched him on the arm, and Clint looked down at her, silently communicating. "I would've had to see for myself, and wouldn't have stopped until I got answers."

"No matter _who_ got in our way," Natasha finished.

Rubbing the back of his head, Bruce shrugged. "Now you know why I didn't say anything, even after…" he looked down at Natasha and smiled.

Though Clint and Natasha didn't say a word, Bruce knew he'd been forgiven by both of them. They didn't really have much choice, just like Bruce hadn't had a choice. Confidentiality agreements made no provisions for telling friends or the people you love. Natasha gave Clint's arm a quick squeeze. He looked down at her again and back to Bruce, still scowling. "Makes me wonder what else you're keeping from us."

One side of Bruce's mouth turned up in a wry grin. "Good night, Clint." Once Clint had gone, Bruce waited to see what Natasha would say now that they were alone, but all she did was open the door and usher him inside. Bruce scooped Theo into his arms, hugging him and rubbing his face in his soft fur while the cat energetically meowed, as if he were telling Bruce everything that happened to him while they were apart. "I've missed you too, Theo."

Bruce was so overjoyed that the cat still remembered him that he didn't want to leave him just yet. Natasha had to have known because she quietly left them alone, returning twenty minutes later with trays of food. A table slid out of the wall when they touched the control along with platforms for sitting, something like what might be found in an RV where space was at a premium. Theo insisted on sitting next to Bruce, demanding his share of pot roast.

Reaching across the table, Natasha took Bruce's hand.

"Now that you know what happened to Coulson, there are some details you might want to know."

Natasha shook her head. "Later. Let's just have a quiet evening."

When dinner was over, Bruce found a couple of cat toys in a drawer and used them to entertain Theo and himself until both were exhausted. Bruce and Natasha changed into their pajamas and the little family lay down together and were asleep within minutes.

~~O~~

In his cell, Matt had a computer that gave him access to movies, documentaries and television shows, to read or listen to music, if he preferred. What he didn't have was a way to contact other people aside from his neighbor across the hall. There were several cells in the detention area, all but two were empty. And as Hill said, Ward wasn't much of a talker, and when he did speak his voice was harsh and raspy. Just listening to him made Matt's throat hurt too.

He wiped his mouth and tossed the napkin on the tray. At least they fed them well, but you wouldn't know it to look at Ward. The other man moved his food around on the plate, only eating a few bites before pushing it away. When the guard had brought their trays, he'd spoken to Matt, but not to Ward. It wasn't a stretch of the imagination to figure out that the man was in a depression. Not that Matt blamed him. He'd only been here a few hours and already he felt like crap, and the person he missed the most was Chris.

What he'd said about going on a date had been a joke, but the longer he spent in her company, the more he wanted to make it real. And that just made him feel worse because it would likely be years before he was a free man again. What was he supposed to do, ask her to wait for him? They barely knew each other. Chris would probably laugh in his face or hit him. Whatever she did, he deserved it. Maybe he should just keep quiet and not even mention her to whomever does his interrogation. _Yeah, that's what I'll do. Then, when I see her again, __if__ I see her again…_

"Matt?"

He was on his feet in a flash. There was a window between them, her voice coming from the hidden speaker. Keeping in mind that they were being watched, Matt crossed his arms and tried to think of something witty to say. Dropping into the lone chair in the room, he scowled. "Come to see the jailbird in his natural habitat?"

Chris returned his scowl. "Not funny, Matt."

"How'd you get in here? Don't you need a backstage pass for this area?"

A guard came in with a chair and Chris flashed him a grateful smile. When he'd gone, she pressed a hand to her side, the lines of weariness on her pretty face telling him more than she would on her own. She had to be in a fair amount of pain from her injury, but she'd refused to take anything on their journey to this place, and probably wouldn't now. Didn't like the way it muddled her thinking, and he didn't blame her. He felt the same way, but he also couldn't handle physical pain for very long. "I pulled in a favor. How you doing?"

"As jails go, this one's not so bad. I got movies, books, three squares a day and one day soon, I'll be taken to interrogation where I'll be forced to spill my guts about HYDRA."

Chris leaned an arm against the edge of the window, her brow furrowing in thought. "Isn't that what you offered to do when you came over to our side?"

He shrugged. "As long as they ask nicely."

"_That_ won't happen, especially if Romanoff or May is conducting the interview. Coulson will be a little nicer about it, at first. But don't let that fool you. He's the most dangerous person you'll ever meet," she said with an ironic twist to her lips. Matt was about to voice another smartass remark when the guard returned. He lifted his chin and Chris nodded. "I have to go. If you need anything…"

"I'll submit a request to the director in triplicate and bring a note from my mother." Chris's laugh was spontaneous, transforming her entire face. The lines of fatigue disappeared and brought color back to her cheeks giving her a fresh, girl-next-door look. He responded with a lopsided grin. "Glad someone finds humor in my situation."

Shaking her head, still with that smile, she got to her feet. At the door, she stopped and looked back at him. Matt went to the window to keep her in sight until the door closed. Movement in the corner of his eye brought his attention to Ward watching him thoughtfully, mouthing the words _Who was that?_

Crossing his arms, Matt leaned against the window. "That, Ward, is SHIELD Probationary Agent Christina Yates. The woman I'm going to marry."

~~O~~

The guard escorted Chris to the exit and she thanked him with a smile that morphed into a frown as soon as he'd gone. "Don't say it."

Barton closed his mouth and pushed off the wall, raising his hands in surrender. "Not a word. I'm only here as a friend, to make sure you get to your room okay."

Chris tucked her hand around Barton's elbow, leaning on him for support, physically _and_ emotionally. She didn't want to admit it, but her side ached so bad she didn't think she'd be able to sleep tonight. "As moral support, you suck. But as a friend, you're the best."

"Can this friend buy you a platonic, non-romantic dinner?"

"Absolutely." Though she wasn't hungry, Chris waved a hand. "Lead on, Mon Capitaine."

They found seats in the cafeteria. Not difficult because there were only two other people in the room. Barton took her to a table then went to get them food. As she asked, he'd gotten her a bowl of soup and some orange Jell-O. When they were done, he walked her to her room and waited for her to open the door. She stepped inside, one hand on the edge of the door. "Thanks for dinner, and for not bringing up my appalling lack of judgment concerning Matt."

He shrugged. "Not my call to make. I'm just your SO, not your mother. I _do_ reserve the right to knock you on your ass if I think you're being an idiot."

"And you should. I'm right about Matt though. He's not a bad person. He just came from a bad place. Just like most of us did." A yawn forced its way out, and Barton pounced on it.

"Bedtime, probie. Sure you'll be okay alone? I could stay with you, if you like. No funny business. Promise."

Just for a moment, Chris considered saying yes, but she didn't want to be babied. "I'm fine. I'll just brush my teeth and get into my pjs."

"Call if you need anything. I'm just down the hall, around the corner, make a left at the junction and go about forty feet."

Because laughing would hurt, Chris simply smiled and closed the door. She waited until Barton's footsteps faded to change for bed. After brushing her teeth, she carefully lay down and thought about what a mess her life had become. She hadn't had contact with her family for more than six months. Though they said they understood, she wasn't so sure because her oldest brother Luke frequently used his military rank to check up on his only sister. Not that it did him any good. SHIELD business wasn't need-to-know for a Lieutenant Colonel in the Marines, and so he met with frustration at every turn. Still, they should know that their little sister was okay and will be home as soon as she can. Chris made a mental note to see if she could send a message in the morning and turned out the light, but didn't go immediately to sleep. There was too much to think about. There was _always_ too much to think about.

~~O~~

Clint opened the A/C vent and pulled himself up into the duct, moving toward the east until he came to Yates's room. He listened to make sure she wasn't undressing then peeked through the slats. She was under a sheet and turned mostly on her left side, right arm over her stomach and the left under her pillow. Most SHIELD agents slept with a weapon under their pillow, and even if she didn't have one, habits were what kept them alive.

With a foot on either side of the vent, Clint kept watch over Yates while he thought about the conversation with Coulson. Their first meeting happened just as he'd said.

One night while he was still with Carson's, Clint had encountered a man a few years his senior, maybe college age. But he hadn't looked like any college boy Clint had ever seen. He wore a dark suit, boring tie and loafers. He remembered thinking, _Who the hell dresses like that to go to the circus?_ And the way he spoke…to the uneducated fourteen year-old boy Clint had been, the guy had sounded like he'd swallowed a dictionary, and Clint's first instinct was to tell the guy to **** off, which he did, hoping to offend him so he'd go away. But all he'd done was to smile as if he found Clint's use of profanity amusing. Now, Clint did it in several languages, and Coulson still used that same smile to indicate amusement.

Inside the tent he'd shared with two of the clowns, Clint had peeked out to make sure the stranger hadn't followed him, but he was gone. And Clint hadn't seen him again until a few weeks before he turned nineteen.

Clint had never told anyone about the incident, certainly not Beppo and Snitch. The older men, whom he'd only known by their clown names, had been very protective of their charge and might've hunted Coulson down just to teach him a lesson.

Barney had left to join the Army a few days before, so to be fair Clint hadn't been the best company. His moods had swung back and forth from missing his brother to wanting to knock his freakin' head off the next time he saw him. He'd also thought about finding Coulson and pounding on him just to let off some steam. But Mr. Carson had threatened to remove him from the show if he got into another fight, so he'd just let it go.

How was that teenage boy to know that Coulson would arrange for Clint to be stranded in a small town in Texas in order to get him to stay still long enough to recruit him into a super-secret government agency called SHIELD? Or that the man would become one of his best friends?

Clint was brought out of his thoughts when Yates moaned in her sleep and rolled onto her side. She seemed to be okay, and would probably smack him stupid if she found out he was watching her. She wouldn't believe it was for her own good and _his_ peace of mind. She'd probably find it creepy. And now that he thought about it, he did feel a little creeped out.

He returned to his room, closed the vent and went in search of someone to talk to. As he passed the medical bay, Hill came out and fell into step beside him without a word. At a junction, she turned to the right, facing him when he called to her. "Hill? When this HYDRA crap is under control, what say we take a couple of days and go somewhere that's not here? Just the two of us."

She took a step in his direction, and the smile on her face was apologetic. "Let me stop you there, Clint. I'm seeing someone."

Shocked and not wanting her to know, he gave in gracefully. "Then forget I mentioned it. 'Night."

Clint continued down the hall, stopping when he was out of Hill's line of sight. He edged up to the corner and peeked around, ready to retreat if necessary. Hill had stopped in front of an unmarked door. She knocked and it was opened by the base administrator, that little suck-up, Koenig. To Clint's surprise, Hill and Koenig embraced then kissed. With his hands gripping Hill's narrow waist, Koenig pulled her inside and the door closed.

Thinking that the world had gone completely mad if Koenig could get a woman like Hill while Clint spent his nights alone, he continued on to the cafeteria, the only place he could think of to find other people this time of night. He thought about going to the hangar to check out the bus, but his access was restricted.

In a corner of the cafeteria, Clint found Skye sitting alone. She looked up from the tablet she was reading, smiled and waved him over. He poured himself a glass of iced tea and joined her.

Skye watched him with her head tilted to the side, her eyes locked on his, and a small almost coy smile playing on her lips. "It's an honor to meet you, Agent Barton. Or should I call you Hawkeye?"

Clint swallowed a mouthful of tea and carefully set the glass on the table, turning it around and around, leaving a wet trail behind. "No offense, Agent Skye No Last Name, but let's get something straight. _Hawkeye_ is what I can _do_. _Clint_ is who I am. Off duty, that's my name. Once I'm reinstated with SHIELD, on duty, it's Agent Barton or just Barton."

Again, she just stared at him. Not with animosity, but also without apology. Then suddenly, she smiled. "AC may not show it, but he's very happy to have you and the others here, to know that you're alright. You're like family to him."

The anger Clint had buried after confronting Coulson surged again. He balled up a napkin and threw it hard hitting the wall. "If he cares so damn much, then why the _hell_ weren't we told he was alive? Why did we spend the last two _friggin'_ years in the dark?"

The young woman didn't seem to be disturbed that Clint was taking his frustration out on her. She just sat back in her chair, her gaze never leaving his face. "I've read the reports. You still blame yourself for the things that happened while you were under Loki's influence. I also know for a fact that AC doesn't blame you for something you had no control over. If I've learned nothing else since I joined SHIELD, it's that. Oh, and AC does what _he_ thinks is best for everyone, and arguing with him will get you nowhere."

"Yeah. I'm just now figuring it out."

Skye's mouth curved into a smirk. "Well, we can't all be geniuses. Someone has to stand on the sidelines and clap as we go by." She pushed back from the table and got to her feet, signaling that she was ready to leave.

Clint stood at the same time. "It was nice meeting you, Skye."

"You too, Clint."

He watched her go, just for a moment wondering if she was seeing anyone. Before the thought was fully formed, he was already mentally kicking himself. _What the __hell__ are you thinking, Barton? I know you're lonely, but you're twice her age. Get a friggin' grip!_

Clint knocked back the rest of the tea and returned to his room where he got ready for bed though he didn't feel like sleeping. Instead, he turned on the computer and tried to do some research. He didn't get far because his access was limited to movie and television video sites, a few social media sites, eBooks, music, and not much else. Resigned to boredom, Clint got down on the floor and did a hundred crunches. When he was done, he turned onto his stomach and did a hundred push-ups.

**The Next Morning**

Natasha awoke to the feel of Bruce's heart beating in time with hers. Moving her hand down brought it in contact with Theo's head. She rubbed his ears and under his chin, listening to him purr, thinking how much she missed that sound. Theo got up to stretch his front legs and push his butt up in the air. Then he did it the other way, sticking out first the left then the right. He walked to the end of the bed, jumped down, and a moment later she heard him scratching in his box.

Her bladder begged to be taken care of, but she wasn't ready to leave the bed or Bruce just yet, so she lay there thinking about Coulson and the fact that he had been alive this whole time. Clint hadn't given her any details, and that bothered her more than she would ever let on. Perhaps she should corner the director herself.

Deciding to let it go just this once, Natasha climbed out of bed without waking Bruce and went to get ready for the day.

~~O~~

A small Asian woman named May had come to talk to Matt. Or rather _she_ talked. Neither his agreement nor a response was required had she allowed him to speak. Matt didn't know if it was her tone, the look in her eyes that reminded him of Romanoff, her words or a combination of all three, but Matt had gotten a sense that, like Banner, he shouldn't make her angry. Also, he didn't know what it was all about, but Ward had disappeared into the latrine as soon as she came into the detention area and didn't come out until he was sure she was gone.

After the door closed behind May, Ward tapped on the glass to get Matt's attention, holding up the computer so he could read it. _You won't be getting out any time soon._

"What makes you say that?"

_You're HYDRA, and Coulson is pissed._

"I_ was_ HYDRA. Past tense." Ward shrugged a question. "Changed sides."

Ward shrugged and mouthed, _Why?_

Matt paced a couple of steps to the right and stopped with his arms crossed. "Because, when I looked in the mirror a few days ago, you know what I saw?"

A smirk turned up one side of the other man's mouth. _Besides that ugly mug?_

Matt looked down at the floor for a moment. "I was on my way to take part in an operation that would've killed three of the people who almost gave their lives to save Earth from the Chitauri, as well as twenty or so others who'd never done anything to me. What I saw in the mirror was the face of a man who had chosen the wrong side."

Ward shrugged then typed again. _ There's nothing I can do about it now._

"Yes, there is," Matt told him. "It's not too late to change sides."

There was a long pause then Ward typed a few words, set the computer down facing Matt and threw himself onto his bunk after turning out the light.

_The day I met Garrett…it was already too late._

**TBC**


	13. Epilogue

**A/N: UPDATED!**

Sequel to _Taking a Chance_. It contains massive spoilers for _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_. If you haven't seen the movie, some of what happens may not make sense.

Lady Pandora did the Beta. Any mistakes after that are all mine, which is SOP.

**Warning:** This chapter contains material that is not suited to younger readers. I didn't want to change the rating to M so please do not read if you're under 18. Alternatively, I could PM you this last chapter, minus the parts you shouldn't be reading.

This is the final chapter of A Hole in the World. Many thanks to everyone who read and reviewed. Your support is greatly appreciated.

Namaste,

Sunny

**Avengers**

**A Hole in the World**

**Epilogue**

**Four Days Later**

Each of the group from Budapest had been vetted and given unrestricted access to the base. In her case, Natasha believed Koenig may have approved her just to get some peace. She had dogged him every day until he gave in.

With Clint, it hadn't really mattered because he'd been all over the base by crawling through the ventilation system. He'd even taken himself on a tour of the bus, and when he came out, a squad of guards marched him off to Coulson's office where he'd been given a stern talking to. Not that it did any good. Natasha was of the opinion, and Bruce agreed, that Clint had gotten caught on purpose, to prove a point.

Bruce hadn't needed a security upgrade because he already had unlimited clearance, except for the armory and the maintenance crawlspaces. If his expertise was ever needed in any of those areas, he wouldn't be going alone.

One by one, the rest of the Budapest Team, as they called themselves, were approved and issued new lanyards. Soon, more would be joining them so Koenig had plenty to do.

Now came the fun part: interrogating the prisoners. As of today, Decker and Ward were still the only HYDRA agents in detention. Others would be taken to another base, and soon Natasha would be sent to question them as well.

Standing behind Kripke, she watched the live feeds of Decker and Ward in their cells. At the moment, they were listening to music, dancing around and playing air guitar. For people accused of treason, they were way too happy to suit Natasha. Time to burst their bubbles.

"Ready, May?"

The only reaction May made was the lift of one eyebrow and the slight pursing of her lips. "Absolutely."

~~O~~

Bored with watching movies and all caught up on television series he'd missed while in Hungary, Matt paced back and forth in his cell. He'd exercised, taken a shower, meditated, completed more than a hundred puzzles of one kind or another, played chess and Battleship online with Ward-the only person he could reach, and eaten breakfast and lunch. A nap would've been nice, but he could barely sleep at night, much less during the day when his mind wouldn't shut up. It kept going over and over a list of things that bothered him. On that list-not first, but in the top three-was Chris and the fact that she hadn't been to visit him since that first time.

He'd made an inquiry with the guard, but the man just shrugged, and Matt didn't know if he had orders not to give him information, the man truly didn't know, or he was pretending ignorance just to irritate his charge. Whatever the impetus, the outcome was the same: boredom and frustration for him. Matt looked over at Ward lying in his bunk staring at the ceiling. The situation had to be even worse for him because he'd been a more integral part of the organization he'd betrayed.

Throwing himself down on his bunk, Matt stared at the vent in the center of the room. It was so small, not even a child could get through. Not that Matt had any intention of trying to escape. Had he known of SHIELD's existence before a couple of months ago, he'd have changed sides long before now. On the upside, he had more intel to pass along than he would have. Not that he had much, and what he did know was probably erroneous or just plain lies told to him by his handler who had trust issues. But then, didn't they all?

He inhaled, held it as long as he could, and exhaled loudly. There were no tiles or any sort of design on the ceiling. Just a solid surface covering the entire cell except for the vent. Even the lighting was indirect from the sides. He wished there was something up there for him to look at to break up the monotony. Even flowers would've been nice because he could amuse himself by making connect-the-dot shapes or count the flowers. Yeah. Lay out a grid pattern, count the flowers in each grid and compare to see if one had more than another.

Folding his hands together, Matt twirled his thumbs first one way then in the other. Thinking of flowers on the ceiling made him think of his mother's favorite Statler Brothers song. He started humming then singing.

_I've been hearin' you're concerned about my happiness  
But all that thought you're givin' me is conscience, I guess  
If I were walkin' in your shoes I wouldn't worry none  
While you and your friends are worryin' 'bout me, I'm havin' lots of fun_

He sat up on the side of the bed and Ward had come to stand at the window, watching him with a grin. The sort that said he thought Matt was losing it. Still, he bobbed his head in time to the song.

_Countin' flowers on the wall that don't bother me at all  
Playin' solitaire 'till dawn with a deck of fifty one  
Smokin' cigarettes and watchin' Captain Kangaroo  
Now don't tell me I've nothing to do_

Matt sang through to the end, and had to admit he felt a little better. "Any requests?" Ward typed on the computer and held it up. Matt laughed and shook his head at the obscene suggestion. "I see you found the sarcasm font. How about something from the music library?"

_You have MUSIC?_

"You don't?" Ward shook his head and Matt wondered what was going on with his cellmate. Matt had the occasional visitor, movies, music and other stuff on the computer to keep him occupied, the guards spoke to him though they refused to answer questions about the staff or anything to do with his incarceration. Both men received the same food. So what had Ward done to warrant more severe treatment?

Matt scrolled through the music library. "How about this one?"

Just a few notes of Bob Seger's _Old Time Rock and Roll_ had played when Ward made a face and shook his head.

"Okay, so what about…" Matt clicked on another favorite, CCR's _Have you Ever Seen the Rain?_ Again, he received a negative response. "Um, _Stuck in the Middle with You,_ Stealers Wheel?"

This time Ward waved a hand at their surroundings, and Matt admitted that one hit a little too close to home. "What else have we got? Dire Straits, Blue Oyster Cult, Deep Purple, Queen…" Matt looked up when Ward tapped on the window and held up the computer.

_Not Queen!_

With a half-grin, Matt asked, "You always this picky? Here's one."

He turned the volume up as high as it would go, blasting _You Really Got Me_ by The Kinks. He danced around his cell lip-synching and playing air guitar while Ward did the same.

As they swung into the guitar solo, Ward abruptly stopped. Suddenly subdued, he went to sit on the side of his bunk, and a moment later Agent Romanoff came into view followed by Agent May. Both were dressed all in black, Romanoff in a dress and May in pants. Romanoff's hair had been dyed red, the same color as in the videos from the invasion, but longer. She barely gave Ward a glance, while the other woman glared at the top of Ward's head. Matt shut off the music. Not exactly embarrassed at his actions, he gave the women a sheepish shrug.

Romanoff nodded and Matt's cell door was opened by one of the guards. As he stepped out into the hall, Romanoff said, "These men will take you to interrogation, Mr. Decker."

Matt opened his mouth, to say what, he wasn't sure, so he closed it again, giving Romanoff a short nod. He expected to be handcuffed, but the guards only pointed then fell into step behind him. The only time they spoke was to direct him to have a seat on one side of a plain, unadorned table with a single chair on either side. Though he couldn't see it, he knew there would be sophisticated monitoring equipment hidden in the ceiling and walls. The difference between this room and the interrogation rooms in the movies was the absence of the one-way mirror. That didn't mean he wasn't being watched now, or that he hadn't been monitored in his cell.

Knowing better than to let himself appear nervous, he crossed his arms and concentrated on sorting out the timeline of his tenure with HYDRA. He'd just gotten to the pat-down by Chris when the door opened and Romanoff came in, again accompanied by May.

To the air, Romanoff gave the time and date. "This interrogation is being conducted by Agent Natasha Romanoff and Specialist Melinda May." Romanoff's intense hazel eyes landed on Matt, and though it disconcerted him like nothing before, he held her gaze without blinking or flinching. "State your name and date of birth for the record. Your _legal_ name."

"James Matthias Decker. DOB May 14, 1973. Can we just cut the _crap_ and get to the real reason we're here?"

Romanoff's expression didn't change. May stood in the corner with her arms crossed, moving only her eyes. How she could stay so still without her joints and muscles getting stiff, Matt didn't know, but he'd like to talk to her about it sometime. If he got out of this with his skin intact, he might just get the chance.

"What's your handler's name?"

Leaning back in his chair, Matt rested the ankle of one leg on the knee of the other. "I can only give you the name I knew her by. The voice on the phone sounded female and went by the name Bailey Tanner. She didn't have an accent that I could tell, but I once heard her say something in a language I didn't recognize."

"What was the word?"

He said the word, or how he remembered it.

Romanoff glanced at May then back to Matt. "She only used it the one time?" At Matt's nod, she seemed pleased though her expression hadn't changed. "How many operatives did you personally supervise?"

"None. I was at the bottom of the HYDRA food chain. Over the years, I met four others. People you wouldn't look at twice if you saw them on the street. Three men, one woman."

"I see." The feeling of relief didn't last long. Romanoff turned her chair slightly sideways and crossed her knees. It was done in such a manner that Matt wondered if she was testing him, to see if he could be distracted by a pretty face and toned legs. But no matter how much he wanted to check her out, he kept his eyes on her face. After a few moments during which she made notes on a tablet, he got the feeling that he'd passed her test because she uncrossed her legs and swung them under the table out of sight.

May came to Romanoff's side and whispered in her ear. Romanoff nodded and May returned to her vigil in the corner. Tapping the screen of the tablet, Romanoff read what was displayed then looked Matt in the eye. "Tell me how you came to work for HYDRA."

With a sigh, Matt finally gave into the urge to fidget and rubbed a hand through his hair. "Six months after my mother passed away, I was laid off from my job with TechNet. The amount I was paying each month to the loan shark soon wiped out my severance package as well as what little savings I had. My home and car were repossessed. I was on the verge of filing for bankruptcy when a man calling himself David Bannion approached me with an offer to pay off all of my debts, including my home and car, and all I had to do was work for him. It seemed like a good deal at the time…"

~~O~~

Watching the interrogation of Matt Decker over Kripke's shoulder, Coulson admired how well the women worked together. They hadn't met until a few days ago though each seemed to know what the other was going to do before it happened. Such rapport usually only came with shared experiences. "Agent Kripke, inform Agents May and Romanoff that I will be joining them."

"Yes, director."

Coulson made his way down to interrogation, slipped on his Buddy Holly glasses and knocked on the door and was admitted by May. Romanoff had already vacated the chair, and without acknowledging her efforts, he sat down across from Decker, not offering to shake hands. "My name is Phil Coulson. Perhaps you've heard of me."

A crease appeared above Decker's nose. "No, I haven't."

Pretending to be annoyed, Coulson said, "That's more than a little disturbing. Maybe HYDRA isn't as big a threat as we thought."

"And you'd be mistaken." Decker didn't appear to be intimidated by Coulson in the least. "It wasn't my job to keep tabs on the movers and shakers at SHIELD. I hadn't even heard of SHIELD until a few months ago."

"Then let's get you into the loop. I took over the position after the death of the previous director at the hands of a HYDRA strike team. His name was Nick Fury." There was still no glimmer of recognition from the prisoner. "Maybe this will help. I was instrumental in bringing the Avengers together as a team. Without me, the Chitauri wouldn't have been defeated." He looked directly at May. "You know, I should have my own action figure. Then, I'll have a full set."

May looked from Coulson to Decker and back, speaking out loud for the first time since the interrogation started. "I'll get on it immediately, director."

As if he expected nothing less, Coulson faced Decker again, giving him a long stare without blinking. When it had gone on well past the point that most people had to fill the uncomfortable silence with noise, Coulson motioned to the women. "You've verified the information he's given us?"

Romanoff spoke first. "Yes, director."

May continued. "Everything checks out."

Romanoff again. "We've found no evidence that any of his fact-finding missions directly compromised the United States government or its intelligence network, and nothing to indicate that any of the reports he filed resulted in loss of life."

Taking what they said under consideration, Coulson glanced at Decker again, holding his gaze for the next question directed at May. "What's your recommendation, Agent May?"

Her dark eyes landed on Decker then returned to Coulson. "With training, he would be an effective member of SHIELD."

Though she hadn't been asked, Coulson knew Romanoff would weigh in, and she didn't disappoint. "I concur."

Getting to his feet, the SHIELD director removed his glasses and shoved them in his breast pocket. "Have him fitted with a monitoring bracelet. Training to begin immediately. Barton is SO for Yates?"

"He is," Romanoff responded.

At the mention of Agent Yates, Decker had finally produced an involuntary flicker of response. The man definitely had feelings for the probationary agent. "Assign Cooper as his SO."

Coulson closed the door on May and Romanoff's "Yes, director."

**Later That Night**

Chris yawned as the lift doors opened on the residence level. She was coming from the gym, tired, sore, and annoyed. Mostly annoyed that she was still sore from being shot though it had only been a couple of weeks. She was also hungry with a small amount of worry for Matt. Through the coconut telegraph, she found out he was being interrogated by Romanoff and the woman from Coulson's team, May. No telling what they might do to him if he even thought about lying. But she believed he'd tell the truth about anything they asked.

Her footsteps slowed and came to a stop when she heard voices up ahead and around the corner. Cooper was saying to Matt, "_This is your room. You'll need clothes so make plans to head into town in the next couple of days. With an escort, of course. We'll start your training with hand-to-hand and work up. That sound good to you, Probie?_"

_Probie?! What the hell's going on? How did Matt go from prisoner to probationary agent in one afternoon?_

She waited until Cooper had gone into his room before showing herself. Putting on a smile, Chris said, "So now you're a probie too?"

Matt spun around, a wry smile lighting up his face when he saw her. "Yeah. Coulson's idea. You're a little ahead of me in that department. I'm starting from scratch and you've been in the business how long?"

"I entered the police academy after getting my bachelor's degree in criminal justice from O-U, and went to work for the Tulsa PD. Recruited into SHIELD about a year after the invasion. So, ten years, give or take."

"Well, I have a master's in linguistics and philosophy with a minor in pop culture."

Unable to help herself, Chris laughed. "Really?"

He nodded, leaning his shoulder against the wall. "Sad, but true. Not the best way to get a job, but I got lucky. In the beginning at TechNet, it wasn't too bad. I had a lucrative position with an international company, a nice car and a home in the Chicago suburbs. That is until my mother got sick, TechNet laid me off and my life went to hell."

Touching his arm, she gave it a gentle squeeze. "Things are looking up for you now. Just make sure to stay on Coulson's good side."

"No worries. I've learned my lesson about doing business with the wrong people. I'm not cut out to be a bad guy." With a tempting smile, Chris lightly trailed her fingers up to Matt's shoulder, rubbing in circles. His hand came up to hold hers. His thumb rubbing over her knuckles felt so…

"Good."

They leaned toward each other and Chris closed her eyes. There was a breathless moment of anticipation then Matt released her hand, pulled her into his arms and kissed her with a hunger that matched her own.

~~O~~

Walking beside Natasha, Bruce considered everything he and the other doctors had tried to do for Leo Fitz, kicking himself because he couldn't do more. He'd never met the young man, but he'd read some of the papers he and his partner, Jemma Simmons had published and felt they provided insight into the incredible intellects of both scientists. If the world were to lose that…

Bruce heard Chris and Matt talking up ahead. He put a hand out to stop Natasha. Laying a finger against his lips for quiet, he peeked around the corner then motioned Natasha forward. Together, they watched Matt and Chris kissing.

With a smile, Natasha took his hand, pulling him away when he would've kept watching. Bruce wasn't surprised to see the pair were finally together. He'd felt the attraction they had for each other from the beginning. At first, Bruce had put it down to Matt's guilt for the part played in Chris getting hurt in the first place. And though that was part of it, he'd sensed more from the man than the wish to atone for his sins. Putting his arm around Natasha's shoulders, he pulled her close and dropped a kiss on the top of her head, feeling her fingers tighten on his waist.

"Off the subject, _lyubimaya_. We need to figure out who we want to watch Theo while we're in Sao Paulo."

Bruce heaved a sigh. "I hadn't thought about it. Can't leave our child with just anyone."

Natasha snorted. "Our _child?_"

"He has _your_ eyes and your cat-like walk." For a moment, he thought she was annoyed. Then, she laughed and he did too. They reached the lifts and he pressed the up button to go to the cafeteria. "Not sure what he gets from me."

Suddenly pulled off balance, Bruce barely kept his feet under him as Natasha dragged him into an unused room and closed the door. The furniture was draped in dust covers, but Bruce had only a second to notice before Natasha pushed him backward onto the bed then knelt over him, straddling his hips. With a hand on either side of his head, she leaned down to kiss one corner of his mouth. She moved over to the other side then up to kiss each closed eyelid. "Our boy is like you. He's a lover, not a fighter. He likes to cuddle and snuggle. And he really likes it when I do this…"

Natasha used the first two fingers of each hand to massage his temples. In response, Bruce moaned and brought his hands to rest on her hips, lightly clenching and releasing. "Mmm."

"But there's something only _you_ can do for me."

He moved his hands in toward her spine, slowly sliding up to her waist and around front to pull her shirt up so he could touch the skin of her stomach, inching his way higher and higher. He reached his goal, making her gasp. Her small, strong hands pulled his shirt from the waistband of his pants. Sliding her fingers inside the upper edge of his pants, she skimmed around and opened the front, and reached inside. He gasped again and she pounced, invading his mouth with her tongue, making demands which he eagerly fulfilled before making a few demands of his own.

~~O~~

Bruce and Natasha arrived at the cafeteria almost two hours later than they'd planned. Taking a table in the corner where Natasha could have her back to the wall, Bruce pointed to someone sitting alone. "What about…"

Natasha shook her head. "Theo doesn't like him." Her eyes scanned the room. "Bruce?" She pointed her chin. "Over there."

"You sure?"

"Absolutely."

He considered her choice and the more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea. "Let's do it."

**Eleven Days Later**

"So what's for dinner tonight? Tuna, beef in gravy or, _yuck_, liver and shrimp?" Skye looked down at Theo sitting at her feet with his fluffy tail curled around. He meowed and pawed at her pants leg telling her to hurry. "Liver it is, big fella."

She opened the can, dumped the food into a dish with "Theo" written on the side and set it on the floor. "I'm glad _you're_ eating this and not me. How Dr. Banner and Agent Romanoff convinced me to take care of you, I'll never know. Guess we'll just have to make the best of it, right?"

Theo didn't respond, and Skye sat on the floor to watch him eat. "I've never had a pet before. One of the foster families, the Brody's, had a dog, and he was fun to play with. I really, really liked Mr. and Mrs. Brody, but that only lasted a couple of months. Then I was sent to yet another foster home. _That_ one really sucked. Too many rules. So, I ran away and changed my name to Skye. Not long after, I met Miles and joined Rising Tide."

Stretching her legs out in front, Skye leaned back on her hands. "Then AC and his team found me, and here I am."

She closed her eyes and exhaled loudly. "Living here's better than my van. AC's cool, Trip's a great guy, Fitz and Simmons are weird, but the good kind. And May…well, maybe it's a good idea if you steer clear of The Cavalry. She doesn't like to be called that though, so let's just keep it between us."

The cat finished eating and sat watching her while his long pink tongue removed bits of meat and gravy that clung to his long white whiskers. Then, he used his tongue to lick his paw and swipe it over his face and ears. Always three licks and two swipes.

"Everything was going great. It had taken some work, but we'd become a cohesive unit. That is until I found out my SO was HYDRA. Then it all turned to _crap_ again.

"But now we're here and AC's the man in charge." Bringing her knees up, Skye wrapped her arms around them, still watching the cat. "He says I've got to pick a last name, so I'm gonna go with Brody."

She rubbed a hand down Theo's back. "Skye Brody. How does that sound?"

Theo came to sit next to her, reaching out a paw to touch her cheek. He meowed, and it sounded like approval. Pulling him onto her lap, Skye buried her face in the cat's soft fur, and listened to him purr.

**Sao Paulo, Brazil**

**Home of ****Rayssa and ****Miguel ****Henriques**

From the moment they arrived at Rayssa and Miguel's home, Alejandra insisted on sitting on Tio Bruce's lap. At the dinner table, she reluctantly took a seat next to him, all the time chattering away about whatever her young mind churned up. Natasha noticed that what she found interesting wasn't limited to what she understood. If something confused her, she said so and demanded an explanation. At bedtime, Rayssa and Natasha bathed the child, and when she was dressed for bed, Bruce came in to read a story and tuck her in.

Once the children were all in bed, the adults made plans for having medical supplies delivered to the same small village Bruce had been in when Natasha found him. Together they'd decided that it would be his base of operations for his clinic and medical school, though the latter wouldn't be taking on its first students for some time yet, but at least it was in the planning stages. Natasha would be gathering investors for next few months, and once they had the school up and running, it was her plan to return to her position with SHIELD.

~~O~~

The next morning, Natasha took Bruce to her favorite outdoor café where they sipped Caipirinha and shared Salpicão while watching the ebb and flow of humanity as it passed them by. Some smiled a greeting. Others just scurried past as if showing some small courtesy to strangers was too much to ask.

"I've been curious about something, Tash." She looked at him and nodded. "How did you find me in that village? I should've moved on over a week before you showed up."

Pursing her lips to keep from smiling didn't stop the twinkle of humor in her eyes. "Remember the teddy bear I gave you? I put a specially designed chip in it that wouldn't turn on until it received an activation signal from the tracker I had with me."

"Clever girl!"

A small smile played on Natasha's lips as she gazed out onto the crowd with a faraway look in her hazel eyes. Bruce wrapped his fingers around her palm and squeezed to get her attention. She squeezed back, her eyes flitting over his features. Something of what he was thinking must have shown on his face. She tilted her head to the side, showing concern. "Is something wrong?"

"I just want to say this before I lose it or Clint will _not_ be a happy camper. He spent two hours teaching it to me. _Lyub-lyu tebya vsem sertsem._"

She leaned forward until their mouths nearly touched, her warm breath whispering over his skin. "And I love _you_ with all of _my_ heart, _plyushevyy mishka__moya._"

Bruce's free hand came up to brush a strand of curly red hair back over her ear, his fingertips gliding gently over the smooth skin of her neck and back up to touch her cheek. "Marry me?"

Natasha's eyes widened in surprise and a little shock. Her mouth dropped open and she seemed to have forgotten how to breathe. Bruce thought it was only fair that she be as breathless as he. Then, as if pieces of a puzzle were finally falling into place for her, Natasha smiled, this time with delight, and said, "Yes."

Relieved, Bruce kissed her soundly. Natasha pulled her lips from his and dropped tiny kisses all over his face making him laugh. He eased her away so they could talk details. "What would you think of eloping?"

Again, that jubilant smile. "If that's what you want."

"What do _you_ want?"

"Never thought about it." She did so now, but only for a short time. "Eloping sounds perfect. We could fly out to Las Vegas tomorrow, get married and spend a few days at Disneyland. On the way to Sao Paulo, we can stop at the Playground and tell our friends."

Bruce chuckled. "For someone who never thought about getting married, you certainly know what you want. And I _love_ the idea of honeymooning at Disneyland."

"For realsies?"

He smiled with affection. "For realsies."

Natasha kissed him again, lingering on his lips, savoring their taste. He didn't mind because he was doing the same. She pulled back just until their lips lost contact. "I want to marry you. How we accomplish it doesn't matter, as long as we're together."

"My thoughts exactly." Bruce fished his SHIELD phone out and Natasha scooted around to look over his shoulder, reaching over to tap the screen. In just a few moments, they were booked on a flight to Las Vegas with a layover in Miami, a one-night reservation for a suite at the Bellagio, and another flight out to California the next day.

She rested her cheek against his shoulder. "We're really gonna do this, aren't we, _lyubimaya_?"

"We are, _meu chuchuzinho_."

Her fingers toyed with the chest hairs that peeked out above the first button of his shirt. It tickled, but not enough to make her stop. Bruce brushed a few wispy strands of hair over her ear and sighed with contentment.

**The End**

**A/N: **"Flowers on The Wall" is a song by The Statler Brothers. Written and composed by Lew DeWitt in January 1966.

"Old Time Rock and Roll" is a song written by George Jackson and recorded by Bob Seger in 1978.

"You Really Got Me" was written by Ray Davies and performed by The Kinks. It was released in August 1964.


End file.
